


Waltzing

by casstayinmyass



Category: Django Unchained (2012), Downsizing (2017), Inglourious Basterds (2009), Inglourious Basterds RPF, Water for Elephants - All Media Types
Genre: 18th Century Erotica, Alternate Universe - Historical, Blow Jobs, Canon Era, Christoph Waltz Smut Collection, Daddy Kink, Desk Sex, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face Slapping, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Headoverhiddles, Jimmy Fallon - Freeform, Kinky Hans Landa, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Pool Sex, Protective King Schultz, Public Blow Jobs, Riding, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, Spanking, Talk Shows, Teasing, Tumblr, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Vacation, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-09-19 15:22:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 45,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17004177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: Collection of my Christoph Waltz tumblr fics (headoverhiddles)! Centers around him and his characters, reader insert. Most are smut, some are fluff.





	1. The Austrian Suitor (Christoph Waltz x Reader)

**Author's Note:**

> Some of these have already been posted to ao3, but this is just a way to keep them all organized.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your intended and his father travel all the way from Austria to meet you before the wedding. The trouble is, you immediately fall for his father, Archduke Christoph Waltz.

The castle grounds were groomed to perfection. They always looked quite beautiful anyway, but with the occasion approaching of foreign guests, your parents wanted everything just right.

“When do they arrive?” you ask, peering out the window in the sitting room.

“Within the hour,” the housekeeper, Mrs. James, assures you, watching with a small smirk. The dress she had Clara, your lady in waiting, put you in this morning is deep blue, bringing out your eyes, and your corset is even tighter than usual. Mrs. James had insisted the bust made prospective suitors friendly, but you insisted that your sharp intellect would make up for it. Mrs. James had said she had no doubt about that, but still, your bust was lovelier than most, and it wouldn’t hurt to accentuate it– even if the archduke’s young son from Austria, Herzog Tobias Waltz, was already set to marry you.

“Oh!” you bite your lip, fluffing your skirts up and laying back on the couch, “I wonder if he’s going to be positively smouldering with good looks.”

“One would hope,” Mrs. James replies absently, busying herself with the pillows.

“Perhaps he’s as avid a reader as I am!”

“Mm, perhaps he’s read Romeo and Juliet,” the housekeeper nods along, and you scowl.

“I do hope he shares my view of it. Macbeth is the truly gripping tale.”

“Well then, may you two wile away the nights of your married life together reciting it to one another by heart,” Mrs. James smiles wryly, and you heave another dramatic sigh.

“Oh–”

“What now?”

“Oh, fancy he looks like a troll?”

Mrs. James shoots a look up. “I sincerely doubt the Archduke of Austria’s son would have a reputation so grand as it is if he looked like a troll, Miss (y/l/n).”

“Mm, you’re probably right. Is my hair okay?”

“Wonderful.”

“My lips?”

“Stunning.”

“Do you think he’ll like me?” you sigh, and Mrs. James finally gives up, dropping the pillows and sitting down across from you.

“Yes, dear. I think he’ll like you.”

“No,” you begin to grin wickedly, parting your legs, “Do you think he’ll like me?”

The tired housekeeper purses her lips, huffing out a chuckle. “A pretty, intelligent, sexual creature like you? What man wouldn’t fall in love?”

“Now I’m no harlot,” you sniff in quick protest, “I’m simply sexually liberated, as a result of my… extensive enlightenment and array of knowledge.”

“And they say you’re not self-effacing,” Mrs. James smiles sardonically.

You stick up your chin defiantly, crossing your arms. “My pride is completely justified. Besides, Tobias will appreciate it, the moment he comes gallivanting in and sweeps me off my feet!”

“Whatever you say, dear. Now close your legs like the lovely lady I you are somewhere in there, and let me finish the housework before your Austrian beau gallivants on into the parlour.”

As soft as a mouse, your mother comes floating down into the foyer of the grand castle, wearing her best. She had been fussing all morning over which earrings she would wear– she had to present her best with her daughter marrying off, it was a spectacular occasion (and just the right time to display her new earrings).

“Ah. You went with the teardrops,” your father remarks, glancing at your mother’s ears fleetingly as he walks by with the paper, “Smashing.”

“Lovely of you to notice, dear,” your mother replies, and you can’t tell if she’s being sincere or not. “When are they due?”

“When they’re due,” your father says, and your mother blinks.

“You don’t seem as happy as you should be.”

“And how happy should I be, that my young, only daughter is being married off to a foreigner, and I’ll never get to see her again as of next month?”

“You’ll get to see me,” you assure him casually, obsessively checking that your nails are polished properly, “Just come to Austria.”

“Just come to Austria, she says,” your father mutters, “Your mother drones on about travelling to the nearest abbey, I’m afraid, let alone the other side of the world, my dove.” He opens the paper to a column on the prestigious Archduke’s arrival, studying it closely. “Archduke Christoph Waltz, with his son Tobias Waltz, arrive to meet the future duchess of Vienna, Lady (y/l/n). Hm. Pomp and circumstance.”

“As it should be,” your mother reminds.

“They’re here,” Clara says from the front.

You spring up, panic shooting through you as you run over everything in your mind again. Mrs. James smoothes your arms, and tilts your chin up.

“Relax. You do what you do best, (y/n), and you’ll capture the room in minutes.” You manage a thankful smile, then get in position at the front. Your parents open the door, and you all walk out as the carriage comes to a halt.

First, a tall young man gets out of one side. This must be him. He’s got golden hair, swept to the side, and a smile that could make any lady want to mount him. He’s wearing his royal uniform, and it looks dashing on him. You wait for him to meet your eye and smile, for you two to share that moment you’re supposed to have where time stays still and nobody else exists except you two… but he never looks up from his shoe, as he complains about stepping in some mud.

You clear your throat, but he just looks the other way, waiting for his father to get out the other side. And he does.

What looks his son has, the Archduke of Austria possesses in triple. His boyish good looks meld oddly well into his older age, which he wears handsomely. His hair, a soft silvery blonde, contrasts his dark suit, and his blue eyes twinkle with mischief. His posture is impeccable, and he walks with unbelievable confidence. You swoon a little, your thighs rubbing together, then you catch yourself.

What in the hell are you doing?! Back to Tobias.

“My Lord Tobias Waltz,” your father stands straight, making an effort to smile, “Lady (y/l/n), your future bride.”

“Mm, Guten Tag,” he says, shaking your hand with a hint of impatience. You smile in your best efforts, blushing a little as he finally returns it.

“…My Lord Archduke,” your father goes on, “My lovely daughter.”

“And lovely she is indeed,” he smiles, and looks at you as he takes your hand. There it is. The moment. This man stares into your eyes with careful scrutiny, playful yet searching, and you’re captivated. There’s something so deep, so striking about him. His thumb strokes lightly over your knuckles as his gaze flickers down to your lips. He then breaks contact with a small smirk. “Is she not, Tobias?”

“Oh lovely, ja,” Tobias nods, distracted by a bird sitting on the sill. Your mother coughs, and invites everyone in.

Once inside, the normal pleasantries are exchanged. Tea is served, and the Archduke takes a seat across the room from you and Tobias, with your parents. They make a toast to the engagement, and Christoph raises his cup.

“Prost.”

“What a long journey,” your mother makes conversation, “You must be tired.”

“Oh lord, you have no idea–” Tobias begins to moan, but Christoph cuts him off with a warning glare. He then gives a dismissive chuckle.

“A little bit weary of the road, I suppose, but we were happy to make the trip to meet young (y/n), of course!”

“Well?” you ask, biting your lip, “Was it worth it?”

Again, you two lock eyes. “More than.”

Your mother attempts a lighthearted laugh to break the tension. “As things are going currently, it would appear you’re the one trying to court our daughter, my Lord Archduke, not Tobias!”

You feel your stomach flop in embarrassment, and even your father looks up with a scowl, thinking the joke tasteless, but Christoph just laughs it off, laugh lines by his eyes pronounced. “Could you imagine?” he plays along, shaking his head. But then, the look is back as he takes a long sip of tea, and you can’t stop the warmth spreading throughout your body. You look over to your suitor, hoping to channel some of this sexual energy into the right man before your body decides it’s too late.

“So Tobias, tell me,” you smile, taking his arm, “What did you study in Austria?”

He finishes shoving down an horderve. “Study?”

You feel your chest tighten up, and your parents immediately share a loaded glance. For just a moment, you excuse yourself.

A little later, after dinner is served, you decide that it’s time to give your suitor another chance. He is, after all, going to be the face you wake up to every morning like it or not, and he could just be starting out rocky because of the travel and new country. As the maids tidy up, you and Tobias step out to the veranda.

“I must say,” you join him, walking out under the stars of the beautiful summer night, “I didn’t take you for a man who appreciates humor when you arrived.”

“And what makes you say that?” He turns.

“You seemed preoccupied with… other things,” you chance a giggle, and to your utter relief, he finally smiles warmly.

“Forgive me, schatzen. I was rude. I don’t do well travelling, though I should really be used to it, with every trip my father has to take.”

“Your father…” you start to ask, a billion questions bouncing around in your head, but you decide against asking any of them. “Well, that’s alright.”

“Why do you bring humor up?” he asks.

“Oh, your joke about studying earlier,” you laugh, clutching his arm again, “That you didn’t?”

“I wasn’t really joking,” he huffs, and your worries arise again. “My Papa, being the grand intellectual that he is, just had to pay the finest tutors in the country to teach me all kinds of dull, dry things I never again in my life care to think about. Then when I was old enough to attend boarding school, he sent me off with advice to read everything I got my hands on– I did the exact opposite, of course. I hardly went to class.”

“Why not?”

“Where’s the fun in it? Besides, Papa is rich. What need have I for school?”

He smirks that devil may care smile, thinking he must appear even more attractive to you now, but his smile just makes you sick to your stomach. For someone to have that much disregard for learning, for reading, for literature, astounds you.

“You look a little pale, (y/n),” Tobias mentions, though he doesn’t sound as if he really cares. “Well. I think I’ll turn in. Guten nacht.” He seems to contemplate leaving a kiss on your cheek, but decides against it, brushing past you awkwardly with not so much as a sideways glance.

You’re left, dumbfounded and ready to cry. You storm inside, and walk past your mother, father, and housekeeper as you make your way to the second corridor. The moon is up by now, the sky fading from an orange haze to the purple blue of late evening.

You sniffle, crossing your arms, and continue down the dark hall with only a candelabra to light your way.

“Pardon me, Fraulein.” You whip around and cover your mouth, then see Christoph. “Oh– I do… apologize for the scare, but I find myself lost, I’m afraid.” He puts his arms up apologetically. “I am good at giving direction, but ultimately not taking it. Would you be so kind as to show me to my room?”

You run a hand through your carefully done hair, messing it up and sighing. “You’re far away from it. What were you doing over in this part of the castle?” You catch yourself, and clear your throat. “Ehm… sir. My Lord Archduke.”

He just smiles in good nature, and steps forward. “I suppose I am obligated to disclose my intentions to you, as this is your home.”

“–no no, you certainly don’t need to my Lord, I don’t know what I was saying, I–”

“I was in the library.” You stop short, and place a hand over your chest.

“My library?”

“Your library?” he reiterates, eyebrows raising. “All those heirlich… mmm, magnificent books belong to you?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“You can dispense with the my Lord, it makes me feel older than I am,” he says, and you smile.

“What can I call you?”

“Mm,” he pretends to think on it, “Christoph would do, as it is my name.” You giggle, and he offers his arm for you to take. “Now. Would you direct a poor, lost Austrian to his bed so that he may lay his weary head on a soft pillow?”

“I would be happy to, m– Christoph.”

He pats your hand. “Yes, there we go, perfect.” You grin, and lead him down the corridor. As you both walk, he stares up at the large stone columns. “It is magnificent.”

“The castle?” you ask excitedly, “Oh, yes. It’s haunted, you know.”

“Haunted,” Christoph repeats.

“Yes! Every night, we hear the howling, the moaning, the chains. It’s quite blatant.”

“And… who may it be, that is haunting your charming abode?” he asks in amusement, throwing a look around.

“I think it’s a family member, like in Hamlet.” Christoph gives a smile at your reference.

“Mein liebe, as exciting as a visit from King Hamlet would be, I would wager your spectre is some poor soul who threw himself off the tallest tower back when this place was conceived.”

“Why take the fun out of it?” you pout, and he watches your lips with a twinkle in his eye. You catch his gaze, and move a little closer to him. He smirks, but directs his gaze back ahead.

“You are an admirer of Shakespeare, then.”

“Indeed!”

“I am as well. We have many astounding Austrian writers in Vienna, but Shakespeare’s prolific writing is of course, world renowned.”

“With reason!” you cry passionately, “Oh, he’s brilliant, King Lear touched my heart when I read of his madness, and those heartless sisters!”

“Mm, cruelty portrayed quite accurately,” he nods, “Being Archduke, I see too much of it.” As you walk, you get into a discussion over the greatest pieces of literature of the times, politics in Vienna, politics here at home, philosophy, fantasy, and astronomy, and lose track of time. You’re just enamoured by his presence, as well as more than a little turned on at how intelligent and well-versed he is.

“So… Tobias doesn’t like to read,” you finally bring up the elephant in the room, and Christoph sighs.

“My son does not place as great an importance on education as you or I, no,” he nods, and you look down.

“Why?”

“Simply because he does not care to,” Christoph mutters, obviously vexed by the fact. “I of course put him through school, hired a good tutor to try and make certain he would be raised properly. Alas, he has fallen back on my money. Thinks he can do what he pleases with it.”

“No offense intended, but perhaps he should pick up a book and find out how that usually ends.” You both chuckle at the shared joke, and you get to his door.

“Hm. I suppose I was not too far off,” Christoph looks at his door, and smiles. You feel yourself ache between your legs at that smirk, and your breath becomes shallow as he regards your speechlessness with curiosity. “I will bid you guten nacht. Good night, Fraulein.”

“Christoph…” you say slowly, and he looks at you almost expectantly.

“Yes, Miss (y/n)?”

By now, the warmth in your body is raging, and you need to do something about it. Acting rashly as always, you move in one swift movement and press your lips together with your future husband’s father. He’s shocked at first, but isn’t about to deny you. He growls into your mouth, slipping his tongue in and grabbing the back of your head. His sudden shift from his kind, gentle demeanor to this dominance makes your head spin, and your pussy responds almost immediately.

He pulls back for a minute, eyes searching yours as your lips wait inches apart.

“I do not think this is a good idea.”

“Why?” you all but whine, hands already running down his chest to his buttons.

“I am to be your father by law,” he hisses.

“I haven’t married your son yet,” you whisper back furtively, “I’m still, by law, nothing more than a sexually frustrated lady of the manor.” He watches you, and at your sound logic and pleading eyes, finally gives in with another kiss.

“Did it make you wet?” he whispers, barely ghosting his soft lips over yours, “Talking with me about all those wonderful things?” You nod, and fight the urge to thread your fingers through that hair and tug.

“So wet. You’re so fucking smart, sir.”

He’s visibly affected by you calling him that while looking so wanton.

“As are you, (y/n). I have never met a brighter young lady of your stature.” You glow with pride at his compliment. He glances down to his pants, where a noticeable bulge is forming. “Well…” he murmurs, “This is a predicament.” You moan, and he shushes you. “Hush. You’ll wake the maids.”

“I don’t–”

“Shh,” he whispers, lips touching yours again ever so slightly, “Quiet that fierce, brilliant little mouth of yours.”

You swallow, and lower your voice. “Can I… come in?” you ask meekly, and he looks at you with indecision. Finally, he nods in resignation.

“Mein Gott, it is better than taking your clothes off in the corridor.”

With that, he pulls his lips away, and you follow him in, shutting the door and barring it in a daze of arousal. He lights a candle, and begins to strip out of his uniform as you watch, transfixed.

You were no stranger to the male body. As much as your parents refused to believe it, you had been experimenting from a young age, and knew what you were doing… but seeing the handsome older man in front of you undress did things to you that no other boy had.

“Enjoying yourself, Fraulein?” he smirks, and you nod eagerly. He yawns, and sits on the couch. “Ah! Aussehen, look at this… cigars for the guest, how thoughtful.”

Your eyes darken as you sense what he wants, and get on your knees, crawling forward to retrieve matches. He puts a cigar in his mouth, and you strike one, lifting it up. He puffs on it, and the thick smoke curls in his mouth as he admires you from above.

“Good girl.”

You shudder, grinding yourself down against your heel. You want to do more to please him. You want to hear that pride in his voice again, that praise. He senses this, and moves his eyes down to his clothes, guiding you to unbutton his undershirt. You do, and while you’re there, you move down to his pants, slowly sliding the buckle out. As you do this, he lounges, taking deep drags on his cigar as he sits back and enjoys himself.

He makes a small noise of chastisement as you begin to stroke him, and again, you understand just what he wants. Moving between his legs, you part the folds of his pants, and take out his cock, licking your lips at the sight. After a second, you lean forward, keeping one hand on his thigh for purchase as you lower your mouth over him.

He continues to smoke his cigar, occasionally directing you to slow down, and you feel yourself grow wetter and wetter as you think about how much he doesn’t give a fuck about what you’re doing. Despite his show, you can tell he likes it– his cock begins to twitch against your tongue, and you can’t wait to taste him when he gives you his load.

It sends another thrill through you to imagine how positively naughty you are. A proper rich girl like you who’s about to be married, is letting the sexy father of her intended fuck her mouth as she moans like a common whore in his guest room.

If only Mrs. James knew. She’d have heart failure.

You suck him down, paying careful attention to each vein and especially to the head. You pull off for a moment. “Christoph?”

“Mm?” he raises an eyebrow.

“Could you, um… talk to me some more? In, eh…” you giggle with a light blush, “in German?”

“Ah,” he nods, and places a hand on your head, guiding you up and down his cock as he starts to talk in a low drawl. "Well. Deine schönen lippen um mich herum zu sehen, lässt mich dich an den haaren packen, dich berühren, dich satt machen, dich ficken, dich mit mir fortbewegen bis du um Gnade bettelst.“ (Seeing your pretty lips around me makes me want to grab you by the hair, touch you, fill you, fuck you, have my way with you until you beg for mercy.)

You groan, working him faster. You catch a few key words here and there, having read some volumes of popular books in the language. He takes a deep drag on his cigar, exhaling a plume, squinting, and watching you through it.

"Dein Stöhnen ist das dreckigste, was ich je gehört habe, und ich beabsichtige, es zu meinem vorteil zu nutzen, meine Liebe.” (Your moans are the filthiest thing I’ve ever heard, and I intend to use them to my advantage, my love.)

You look up at him, how powerful he looks above you, and just about come right there. He sees how aroused you are, and nudges you to get up. He then pats his lap. “Come to papa.”

You gasp a little, pussy clenching, and do as he says, sitting on his lap and facing away from him toward the bed. The friction is immediate, and you have to fight to remain still and not drag your throbbing pussy against his thigh. He lays his cigar in a tray on the small wooden table, and hooks his chin over your left shoulder, wrapping one arm around you to hold you just under your breasts as the other one reaches under your skirts from below. You gasp louder, and squirm down as Christoph reaches into your underwear and parts your folds, feeling along your slick entrance. He then presses a kiss to your ear, and inserts two fingers, beginning to pump them in and out. You rock down onto them, moaning his name.

“Christoph… oh, please– don’t stop, don’t ever… oh, don’t ever stop.”

“Never,” his gravelly, lust-filled voice rasps in your ear, “Never when my girl was being so good to her papa.”

“Ah,” you breathe, gyrating your hips on his lap as he adds a third finger. He has to slide his hand up to cover your mouth as you cry out, and he begins to pump even deeper, curving his fingers to stroke your sweet spot. His thumb goes to your clit, rubbing faster and faster. Your ass is grinding down perfectly against his cock, which is still rock hard, and you’re both close to your orgasms.

“You deserve it…” he murmurs in your ear, “You deserve it… you’re so good… so good for me, mein liebchen, so good.”

You reach back and up to grab his hair, arching your back. He fucks you hard with his fingers, in and out, your wetness loud and evident. He chokes a little and lets out a sinful moan as you rub just right against his erection, and you trigger each other’s climaxes.

“Come for me… ah, let me feel you come sweet girl… oh!”

You shudder on top of him as he strokes you to completion and through it, and you feel his spending shoot against your lower back, just over your skirts. That, for some reason, makes it even hotter, and you continue to rock down and moan feverishly as you orgasm.

Minutes later, Christoph takes out a handkerchief, and dabs at his forehead. He then cleans you off with it, and presses a line of kisses up your neck, ending with your soft shoulder.

“You are very talented,” he finally says, and you get off him, breathing heavily and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“You won’t see the extent of my talents– in the library or the bedroom– until we get to Austria and I get married to your son.”

He chuckles, running a hand through his now-dishevelled hair. “You clever little devil, you.”

The next morning, you and the Archduke made eye contact only twice over the breakfast table. It’s not like Tobias would have noticed– he was too busy wolfing down his bread, and your parents were discussing transportation for when you leave next week.

Nobody suspected, and nobody would… that is, until you spilled everything to Mrs. James that afternoon, her tutting and trying to hold her laughter in the whole way through it.

“Oh, Christoph is simply perfect. Every inch the handsome charmer the papers make him out to be,” you gush to her.

“Who?!”

“Tobias’ father, of course!”

The housekeeper just smiles fondly to herself as you go off in search of your diary. “That girl is too much trouble for her own good.”


	2. Candyland (King Schultz x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Dr. King Schultz rescues you from a hostile client at the brothel you work at in Daughtrey, you follow him and Django on their journey, both of you having fallen hard for each other. This eventually brings you to Candyland, where you must pose as King’s daughter. Calvin takes a liking to you, and King doesn’t like it.

_“Please! Please, no–”_

_Another strike across your face as hard hands grab your arm._

_“You shut your whore mouth, hear me?” the man growls in your ear. You whimper, struggling against him._

_“Pardon me, but what do you think you’re doing to her?” a soft voice with a German lilt asks from behind you, and you and the man you’re struggling with turn. It’s an older, distinguished man, with handsome features and a twinkle in his eye. You find yourself staring at he continues. “I’m only asking because it does not look to me as if you paid quite enough to be handling her like that.”_

_“Like what?!”_

_“Like…” the man gestures, “That.”_

_“What do you know about it?” the guy spits, “She’s a god damn whore.”_

_“I just so happen to be in need of a whore,” the man returns, “and this one is lovely indeed.” You blow hair out of your eye. Great. Another showdown over you. God, you should just pack your bags and quit._

_“This one’s taken,” the guy snaps, “You blind?”_

_“I am not, in fact,” the man admits, a small smirk on his lips at the guy’s stupidity. The brothel owner comes over, looking exasperated._

_“We gonna have a problem here, fellers?” The enigmatic man at the door zeroes in on the owner with his gaze, but quickly directs it back to you._

_“You work for this man?”_

_You nod, and the owner frowns. “The hell you askin’ her for?”_

_“I will direct my line of questioning to you then, sir. Are you Racer Buck Willems?”_

_“That’s me,” the owner spits into a tin._

_“Pleased to make your acquaintance, I am Doctor King Schultz and as I said, I am in need of a whore. You provide this service, do you not?”_

_“I sure as shit do, look around!” Buck mutters, and King smiles, eyes narrowing a little as he thinks something over._

_“I like this one right here.”_

_“Now… now look– any price he pays, I can damn well double!” the guy holding you growls, and you struggle as he tightens his painful grip._

_“1,000.”_

_You, the rough guy, and Buck all turn to the handsome older man, mouths slightly ajar._

_“You want to pay for what for me?” you murmur, believing you heard him wrong._

_“1000, my dear. I have it in cash if Mr. Willems would allow me to produce my billfold.”_

_The guy just angrily lets you go, and you blink as you follow into King’s open arms. King gets out his book, and hands a wad of bills to Buck._

_“You better treat him good, you hear me?” Buck mutters to you, still in awe._

_The man slowly looks over to you, and whispers in your ear: “Are you happy here, my love?” You scoff._

_“What do you think?”_

_He nods once, then turns simply to the brothel owner. “She quits.”_

_You two turn to walk out before the brothel owner throws a fit, but a gun cocks behind the man’s head. You twitch, thinking of turning around and grabbing the gun from your old boss, but King just pats a reassuring hand over your arm with a small smile._

_“Do you really want to do this in your place of business sir?” he asks, “I was under the impression you would follow me out onto the street where we could do this, but…” You frown at how cocky he is._

_“Like ya said. It’s my place'a business. I get to kill whoever I want in here… guess that means you, hotshot.”_

_King sighs. “Oh, very well. Have it your way.” Faster than a blur, he whips out his pistol and shoots the brothel owner clean in the forehead, watching him fall over. He holds out his arm to you, and you take it, both of you walking out. He begins to polish his gun. “Whore… I hate that word. I’m so sorry for my derogatory speech earlier– I had to speak his language in order to outsmart him, you see.”_

_“Certainly wouldn’t take a scholar to outsmart that one,” you huff, and the man smiles at you curiously._

_“What’s your name, lovely girl?”_

_“(y/n) (y/l/n).”_

_“Miss (y/l/n).”_ _He takes off his hat. “I believe you already know my name.” You shake his hand, and linger over the few extra seconds he keeps your hand in his. Maybe this particular job wouldn’t be so bad…_

_“I also apologize for the confusion,” he says as he grimaces and puts his hat back on, “The man you used to work for, Racer Buck Willems, was in fact a wanted man with $300 on his head.”_

_“Not surprising,” you mutter._

_“Also, I do not intend to use your services.” You ignore the dull throb of disappointment at that._

_“Then why’d you pay for my services?” you ask, “That much. I gather you’re a bounty hunter, that much’s clear… but why didn’t you just come in and start shooting?” He purses his lips._

_“That is not entirely my style, dear (y/n). Further, I’m an impulsive man I’m afraid, when it comes to cruelty. If I can help out in some little way, I will.”_

_You smile a little. “You must hate how they treat slaves.” He turns, and beckons his friend over. A man with dark skin and a hat dismounts, and you smile even more. “Hm. Nice to meet you too.”_

_“Yeah. You riding with us?” Django asks, and King hums._

_“It would appear that way.”_

_So, you three rode off through the town toward the Marshall’s office to collect the head money, as the sheriff came running to the brothel to clean up the mess._

It hadn’t even been a month since you and King had openly admitted your feelings for one another. It had taken the better part of a year, since King had happened into that brothel. About a month ago, the German bounty hunter had finally opened up to you about the horrors of his past, how his brother was killed, and why he turned to this way of life. After that, you had kissed, and it had been about time.

The kissing had led to you urging him to take you, that you wanted this, wanted nothing more than it. He was hesitant at first, trying to convince you you could do much better than him, you could find some wealthy businessman in the North to settle down with. You had expressed your desire for him and only him by unbuckling his pants in reply. You rode him by the fire, while he whispered sweet nothings in your ear and spoke German affections to you. You fall in love a little more each time King calls you his Fraulein, staring at you as if you’re his world. He’s a self professed romantic– one of the kindest, most gentle men you’ve ever met.

That is, without a gun in his hand.

Needless to say, Django had been relieved to hear you two finally did something about whatever was raging between you; love, lust, admiration, the whole lot of it. Apparently, if he had to sit through another bowl of stew while watching you two share warm smiles and brush hands, he would have blown his brains out.

“A tad dramatic as usual, my friend?” King had asked, eyes widening. Django had simply shaken his head.

“Nah Schultz, I’d say I’m pretty dead on.”

Tonight is the last night before you reach Candyland, the notorious slaver Calvin Candie’s mansion. King and Django had struck up a deal with him a few nights prior, when you had been waiting with the transportation.

“You will stay here, and tend to the horses,” King is telling you.

“I’m coming with you, and that’s final,” you shoot back.

“I wouldn’t argue with her,” Django puts his hands up, and King sighs.

“In normal circumstances, I would not! But you have to understand, (y/n)–”

“Oh, what? You don’t think I can understand, because I’m a woman?” You immediately wish you hadn’t said that, at the hurt that crosses your lover’s face. That was unfair– he had given you every chance a man would have received, and had been fully supportive of you ditching your dress for slacks. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, and he takes you in his arms, holding your head to his chest.

“No no, there is no need to apologize, my darling, none at all. But please understand– I cannot in good conscience let you put your life in danger.”

“Doctor’s got a point, sweet thing,” Django shrugs, “This is my crusade, not yours. I’d feel bad if anything were to happen to you.”

“Exactly,” King nods, and you stare at both admittedly overprotective men.

“And what if something happens to  _you_? I’m left behind to clean up the mess,” you retort, and snuggle into King’s arm. “Now that that’s settled, I’m going to need a dress.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to pose as your daughter.” King sputters.

“What?" 

"His daughter?” Django scoffs, “Ain’t you two been fucking for what now, weeks?”

“Django my boy, don’t be so crass,” King grumbles, rubbing his temples, “But yes." 

"What’s that thing you do with your tongue?” he asks.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I saw the shadows on the tent, looks good. I wanna try it on Hildy." 

"I see. Well that Django, is the art of making a lady feel every bit and more of what you do, a challenge shamefully few men dare to take on. The female body is an enigma, a work of art, a flower if you will, of which you must peel each soft petal back so that she may open up to you and bloom under your touch." 

"What the hell’s that mean?”

“It means you use your mouth as you would your more obvious appendage.” King’s eyes suddenly widen. “Mein Gott, why are we discussing this?!" 

"Listen,” you smirk, “it will make us seem like more of a family to Calvin if I’m going to pose as your daughter, who I hear appreciates the more traditional lifestyle. He is southern, they do appreciate a tight family." 

Django considers this. "Pretty smart.”

“But… but you can’t just– we–!” King tries to protest, but you raise an eyebrow. He swallows. “Oh very well, it just might work. I will take you tomorrow to purchase a nice, southern style gown. Your choosing, of course.”

You give him a kiss, and he presses one to your forehead with a proud little pat.

The next afternoon, after picking out a lovely soft lilac and white dress with dainty gloves, you accompany Django and King up to the doors of the large estate. All around you, you see slaves working the plantation, looking up to get a good view of Django. The sight of all those poor slaves makes you sick to your tightly bound stomach, and you can’t wait to see this place burn after grabbing Broomhilda and running.

The three of you wait at the door, and King turns to admire you, brushing your hair aside. “You picked a lovely one,” he comments. Your whalebone corset is tight around the middle and pushes up your bust, so the neckline of the dress does little to cover your breasts. You turn to see those crystal blue eyes staring into yours in adoration.

“Do I really look that good?” you ask softly, blushing. He sighs, heart aching for you.

“Breathtaking.” The door swings open. It’s a man with skin as dark as Django’s and hair as white as the mansion, and he stares at you suspiciously.

“Calvin?” he calls behind him, “Calvin, come see!”    

“We’re here to see Monsieur Candie,” King smiles cordially, “About buying a Mandingo fighter? He’s expecting us, sir.”

“Sir?! I ain’t no goddamn sir!”

“Very well then, what’s your name?”

“And why in the hell you’s got to know my’s name?!”

“My good man, Calvin Candie is expecting us, won’t you let a few weary travellers in?” More suspicious staring, mostly directed at Django, until he finally opens the door all the way. A man trots down the stairs.

You do a quick survey of him, as you learned to do when you worked in a brothel. He was on the shorter side, with a pointed beard and dark hair combed over. He wore a dark suit, held a thinly rolled cigar between his lips, and he looked about your age. There was something smarmy about him– might just be that he was the fourth most renowned slave owner in Mississippi, but there was also something more than a little dark about him. His smile, in contrast, was cheery as the sun in the sky.

“Welcome, welcome! Stephen now, didn’t I give you specific instructions to let these people in?”

“You did, you did Calvin, but they’s looked suspicious, is all, calling me sir in some fancy far off accent–!”

“Hush now, get on. Dr. Shultz,” Calvin shakes the hunter’s hand, “Brightboy,” he smirks in amusement at your friend, and then he comes to you, visibly taken. “Well bless my soul! And who is this lovely young thing here? I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure!”

“Monsieur Calvin Candie,” King says, forcing a smile, “This young lady is…” he takes too long hemming and hawing, and Django nudges him inconspicuously. “–My daughter, (y/n) Schultz.”

“Your daughter! Charmed,” Calvin grins, taking your hand and kissing it. You try to hide a scowl with a giggle. “Aren’t you just the belle of the ball? So a cutie like you must know a little German with a name your father shares.” You feel your heart skip a beat in panic, and you look to your “father”. He clears his throat.

“She gets shy sometimes, the gentle dove,” he saves, and Calvin hums.

“I understand darlin’, but there’s no need to be shy around me.” He takes your arm, and you swallow.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” you feign, and Calvin winks.

“All bad things, I hope.” King sighs softly to himself, trying to calm his mind.  _We are here for a reason._

“Please! Come in,” Calvin exclaims, and you all enter. Django approaches King as you and Calvin walk ahead.

“You good?” he asks quietly, looking around, “Candie talkin’ to your lady like that?” King nods.

“I trust I will be, my friend.” He gives Django a telling look, and Django smirks. You all head to the parlor, where Stephen is still lurking behind you and staring. King sits next to you on one seat, and Django sits to your left while Calvin takes a seat across from you.

“Well. I’m so glad you three could stay,” he smiles, “Anyone I intend to do business with I always love to spoil with a little southern comfort.” He gestures. “Can I interest you in some tasty Virginia tobacco?”  

Django accepts a cigar while you take a cigarette. King politely declines, being a former dentist. Calvin takes another cigar, and matches are passed around. As you inhale, you feel King’s hand on the small of your back, rubbing slow circles. You smile at his gentle touch– he just wants to ensure you’re his to care for.

“I don’t mean to be indecent in my affections, but what a becoming dress that is,” Calvin comments. He seems to be fixated on you, and while you realize you can use your flirtatious nature to your benefit, it doesn’t turn your stomach any less.

“Isn’t it just?” King smiles, then realizes he was staring for too long to be considered normal for family. “Yes, her taste is just as impeccable as my wife’s.”

“Oh! Why did your wife not join us when your daughter did?” Calvin asks.

“Uh,  _Mrs. Schultz_ finds such things frightfully dull,” King says quickly, “Transactions like these and all.”

“And your little missy here doesn’t?”

“Oh no,” you say, “It’s quite exciting, really. Especially meeting gentlemen like you along the way.”

Calvin chuckles. “What a woman. I’m looking for a fine lady like that myself.”

“Are you?” King responds, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. Lover or daughter, he couldn’t be blamed for it– Calvin seems to get the message to back off, and Django nods in satisfaction at that.

That night at dinner, you had been put next to Calvin’s irritating sister Lara Lee, with King and Django on the left side of you. Calvin sits at the head of the table. As you eat and discuss the deal, Lara Lee talks your ear off about your dress and how  _her_ dress was tailor made, and you can see Django is getting restless, obviously thinking about Broomhilda. The plan was to stay the night, King requesting Broomhilda for some “southern comfort” while Django’s hiding behind the door, then you broker a deal tomorrow morning to take Hildy with you and escape.

Oh yeah. Should go off without any hitches. 

All throughout dinner, you imagine King putting his hand on your thigh and touching you under the table, while you stare at his handsome profile and sexy trimmed beard. His middle age shows, but he’s got a youthful, crisp look about him– simply staring at him makes your pussy ache for attention. But true to his character and unfortunately for your pussy, he keeps his hands to himself. He may have poor self control when it comes to cruelty, but it was damn near unbreakable when it came to seduction.  

You tug on King’s sleeve as he’s finishing a sentence, and he pauses. “Forgive me– yes, my liebchen?”

You lean into his ear, and set your hand on his thigh before whispering:  _“Won’t you just slide a couple of fingers into me and show me who I belong to?”_

He startles a little, placing a hand on his chest as he takes a long sip of his drink. Then he squeezes your hand in his before smirking and whispering back: _"Oh. That just wouldn’t be polite, would it dear?“_ He presses a kiss to your temple, then turns back to Calvin. "Such a funny girl. Tells me she hasn’t seen a house this big in her life!”

“That’s not the only thing you’d be surprised at the size of,” Calvin smirks your way. Calvin’s sister coughs, Django drops his fork with a clatter, and King chokes a little. Django glares at Calvin as you put a hand on King’s leg to restrain him. He speaks anyway.

“Listen to me right now, Mr. Candie. I appreciate that we are in your home and you have the liberty to say what you like at will, but I cannot say I am happy with it. I do not know what kind of idea you have in your head regarding (y/n), but she is not a whore to be sold off to you,” the bounty hunter begins to rant, and you take a deep breath. This was building up to be a good speech.

“You can’t speak to Mon-ser Calvin like that in his own home!” Stephen snaps, hobbling forward and waving his cane around, “I’ll–”

“You’ll do nothing and like it, Stephen,” Calvin hisses, and swallows as King continues.

“As I was saying, she is a respectable,  _virginal_ young woman who is here only to observe the business transactions we are making, not to lose her carefully preserved innocence to you, or any other man in this room. She is very close to me, and is not a part of this deal!” The murderous look in his eyes dissipates, and that pleasant, impish smile of his returns. “Guten?”

Calvin blinks, and beckons Mogi to lean in.  _“What does guten mean?”_

_“Good, I think.”_

_“Ah."_ Calvin turns back, and nods slowly. "Good, then. No offense intended, sir.”  

“Splendid.”

Calvin clears his throat awkwardly, lifting his chin. “Would you care for some more brandy, doctor?”

“Now that you mention it, I am a little thirsty,” King smiles good naturedly, determined to drink away his jealousy.  

That night, you had been left alone in your second floor bedchambers. They were huge, with fluffy silk sheets, and you just felt like collapsing into them. As you begin to slip out of your dress and untie the bodice, there’s a light rap on the door. Your body seizes up, and you wait with baited breath. After a few seconds, the knock sounds again, and you clutch your chest. Your hand trembles as you creep over to it.

“Who is it?” you ask breathlessly. Was it Stephen, snooping around? Was it Calvin himself, come to pay you a visit and teach you a lesson for King’s disrespect?

“It’s just me, your loving papa,” King whispers, and you relax immediately, cracking the door. You roll your eyes at his sarcasm, and shove him in.

“You!” you hiss, and he waits with a grimace for you to rightfully chastise him. “What are you doing here?”

“Django and Broomhilda are, eh… reacquainting. I thought I would give them some space.”

“ _You_ could’ve gotten us all thrown out, or killed tonight! The entire plan would have been blown, Django never would have seen Broomhilda again. What were you thinking talking to Calvin Candie like that?!”

“I know, I  _know_ my dear, I just couldn’t resist.”

“And  _virginal_?! Pff!”

He smirks, pleased with himself at the inventive way of describing you today. “A white lie hurts nobody,” he says, and his smile fades. “(y/n), the way he was looking at you like an animal, talking to you… like he wanted to defile you.” He places a kiss to your cheek, waving his hand passionately. “You are simply not meant to be defiled.”

“No?” you hum, laying back onto the bed and spreading your legs a little. “What, then?”

King’s eyes drop down to gaze between your legs, and as if admiring fine art, he lets out an irreverent sigh. “You were meant to be worshipped.” You bite your lip, ruffling your dress up inch by inch. His accent is driving you up the walls, as it always does. But he looks so good tonight… so put together. King pulls at his collar as he sees the intensity of your gaze. “Before we get up to any trouble we shouldn’t, I’ll bid you guten nacht. See you in the morning, Fraulein.”

“You didn’t just come in for a kiss goodnight, daddy,” you stand, walking back over to him. You begin to unlace the bodice now, letting it fall from your breasts. You expose them so that all you have on now are your skirts, and rub your breasts against Schultz’ white button up, making him moan softly.

“You are tempting me,” he warns, and you bite his earlobe.

“You’ve been tempted all afternoon, watching Calvin flirt with me.”

He eyes you, and looks down to your lips. “He’s going to propose you stay here.”

“Is he now?”

“I can feel it.”

“How could he fall so quickly? He just… mm, met me.”

“You have that effect on people,” King whispers gently, stroking your face, “Remember the brothel?”

“That was impulsive,” you whisper.

“I’m an impulsive man and I just can’t help myself, you know this,” King rasps, and you buck against him, pouting.

“I miss your hands on me. Please, please touch me King.” Schultz exhales as you bring a hand down to rub the already-evident bulge in his trousers. “Mmm… I can see you’ve come prepared.”

He shakes his head, smiling down at you fondly. “You silver tongued devil you.” He puts a hand on your back and draws you in for a kiss, his beard pleasantly tickling your face. The kiss deepens, and you feel his tongue slip into your mouth, caressing your lips and your tongue. His hands move down your smooth, naked back to untie your skirts almost desperately, letting them fall in a pool around your feet as he walks you back from the bed. Once there, he encourages you to lift your arms.

“I must admit, I wanted nothing more than to do this all day,” he says against your lips, “But a gentleman does not divulge such things in public.” He moves downward, parting your legs. He then presses a reverent kiss to your clit, and his tongue takes a sweep of your folds, making you quiver as his beard scratches the soft skin of your thighs. 

“Yes, I’ve noticed your gentlemanly silence,” you huff, “You barely even talked to me, let alone laid a hand on me all day. I was desperate.” He moves off of your pussy as you moan, and licks his lips. 

“I know, my dear, you were so good for me. Did it make you tingle?” King asks, removing his belt, “Thinking about me, how angry I was hearing Calvin say those things to you?”

“Fuck,” you gasp, “Oh, yes.” King takes your wrists, and binds them together to the headboard.

“You were driving me crazy in that dress… Candie’s advances only made my lust for you worse, (y/n).” He trails his lips up your neck. “I haven’t had you since that night.”  

“Two weeks ago,” you moan, and King hums.

“Exactly, my dear. Far too long.”

You blink up at your older lover. “Please take me?”

“Well…” he gives you an affectionate smile, “I have no choice but to oblige my lady love when she asks as nicely as that.” He slides his suspenders down, and takes his pants off, positioning himself over top of you and thrusting in. You groan his name, but he keeps a gentle hand over your lips to keep you quiet as his silver hair falls into his eyes. Your hands shake against the belt, but you love how uncharacteristically possessive King is being– it turns you on beyond belief. Your moans remain loud though as the bounty hunter’s cock fills you over and over again, satisfying your need for him as your noises blend together into the creak, groan, gasp of making love.

Just down the hall, Calvin rouses in his bed. He’d been tossing and turning over Stephen’s cautions earlier that the three visitors hadn’t arrived with pure intentions, but this had jolted him from those grievances. He’s sure he hears noises, and they’re not far away. He  _had_ sent Broomhilda into the doctor’s room earlier, so maybe they were just noisy lovers… but the doctor’s room was a floor down, wasn’t it?

He gets up, and puts on his housecoat before opening the door. Walking down the hall, he comes to press his ear to your bedroom door, where the sounds were coming from.

_“Ohhh… oh, fuck…. oh, yes– please, you’re all I’ve ever wanted– fuck me, like that, there, oh, show me I’m yours!”_

Calvin smirks devilishly. Well, he’ll be damned.  _Of course the saucy little minx wasn’t as innocent as she let on._  You wanted him. He saw the way you made eyes at him all dinner, to hell with what Schultz was on about. Calvin listened in on you pleasuring yourself some more, imagining what he could do to that pretty little mouth. You were begging for a man, begging to be taken by one, and he could definitely oblige. After all, as much as they like to abstain for image, every lady could do well with a good pounding every now and then. As well, you were in his mansion– you were fair game, making noises like that; it could be your little secret. He goes to open the door, slicking back his hair… then hears another voice.

_“Oh, Fraulein, you are spectacular, just like that… yes, take me in, my dear, like a good girl…”_

Calvin stops dead, frowning in alarm. Was that…? No. It couldn’t be Doctor Schultz. _Her…_ Calvin suddenly began to unravel the plot, as if it was smacking him in the face.  _They’re not related. That was a ruse. They’re helping Django get his woman, just like Stephen said. Son of a bitch! They’re damn fucking lovers!_

Calvin Candie had been fooled, and he did not take lightly to being made a fool of.  

“Good morning,” the blonde slaver smiles at you as you all head into the dining room for breakfast, “How did we all sleep?”

“Wonderfully, just wonderfully,” King says, “You have a very comfortable home, absolutely lovely.”

“Comfortable beds,” you say, and quickly add: “It’s just, we’ve been riding for so long, staying in dingy little taverns. It was nice to lay my head on something soft.”

“Mmm,” Calvin smiles sweetly at you, and you start to notice how he’s white knuckling his glass. “And you Django? How was your sleep?”

“Good,” Django nods, “Like (y/n) said, you got nice beds.”

“And I’m sure you made good use of them,” Calvin nods, and at everyone’s tense silence, he just chuckles. “I mean, of course, by sleeping in them!” The tension diffuses, and Calvin has Cora pour some sweet tea for everyone. He takes a long sip, and lights a cigar. He then turns to his sister, telling her to go out and check on the fields. 

“There is… one thing, I want to bring up before we make this deal and you, your daughter, and your apprentice are on your merry way,” Calvin says to King, who nods obligingly.

“Please, anything,” King invites, smoothing out his mustache. Calvin bats his eyelashes, and clears his throat.

“It’s complicated, doc. Last night,” he begins, and your heart beat increases. “–I was just… oh, happening down the hallway, you see…”

Django’s hand crawls to his holster, and you take King’s arm under the table. He squeezes your hand to encourage you to stay calm, and Candie’s smile widens. “Well, you see, what I heard was troubling to say the least.” Django starts to cock his pistol, and you reach your hand around to King’s holster as well, lingering over the gun.

“Oh? And…” King attempts a weak laugh, “What did you hear that troubled you so?”

“What did I hear?” Calvin muses, taking a deep, thoughtful drag on his cigar, “Hm. What… did I hear? Well… let me put it this way. Here in the south, we don’t mind a little sugar in the pot. But daddy and daughter? Now, that’s a bit far I’d say.”

You whip King’s gun out and stand, but Calvin shoots you in the arm faster than you can register. “BULLSEYE!” he screams manically, frightening everyone in the room.

Aching pain spreads, and you look down at your white dress to see the blood blossoming. King immediately falls to the floor with you, nursing your arm and holding you, while Django stands, beckoning Broomhilda over to him. Calvin tries to make a grab for her, but Django’s too fast. Even with a gun to Candie though, he’s got every other gun in the room on him and on you and Schultz.

“Now let’s not be hasty here!” Calvin shouts with a bloodthirsty grin, “Let’s answer a few little questions first, cause my curiosity, gentlemen, has returned.”

King holds you as he whips back to Calvin. “You vile, heartless creature! You would rather shoot her than lose her?!”

“No,” Calvin licks his lips with a vengeful sneer, “I don’t give a good god damn about the bitch. I just like watching you lose her.”

“He won’t lose her,” Django steps forward desperately, watching you bleed as tears gather in his eyes, “She needs a doctor!”

“I believe she’s got one,” Calvin nods, and King’s tears fall on you as you stare up blearily. “What did you say you practice again? Dentistry? Well… that’s a shame. Won’t help that girl of yours, will it?” He starts to cackle, along with everyone in the room. “I should’ve bent her over and fucked her silly while I had the chance! Maybe then she would’ve known her place." 

King stands, grabs his gun, and shoots Calvin straight in the chest. Silence befalls the room, until Broomhilda grabs Django, King, and you, and you all run. You try to hold your arm as more blood gushes, and more bullets whiz past you as you all escape. King gets his sleeve shredded, Django gets his hat blown off, and Broomhilda narrowly misses getting her eye shot out. The horses are watered and waiting thankfully, and the last thing you hear is Stephen cursing you out as you ride.

"You’re going to be alright, my dear,” King swallows, “We’ll be in town very soon. It was all my fault, I’m so sorry. I should have had more self control last night, I should have known he’d hear, I don’t know what I was…”

“Hey,” you cut in, blinking hazily, “It was worth it. Really.”

Django shakes his head at you, laughing as his wife clutches tighter to his middle. “She never does stop, does she?”  

King smiles a little, and moves your hair out of your face to place a soft kiss to your lips. “I wouldn’t have my lady love any other way."  


	3. Verführung (Hans Landa x Reader)

You’re all lined up, each waiting for the leader of the group to bark a command at you. Roles are assigned for the upcoming mission, and you’re last in line.

“Hold on,” you say, “If Bridget’s doing that, what the hell am I doing?”

“(y/n),” Raine says, coming over and crossing his arms. “You… have got jus ‘bout the worst job of all of us.”

You blink, and it starts to dawn on you at all the guys’ sympathetic glances down the line. “Seduce Landa?”

“Seduce Landa,” Raine nods.

“Seduce the Jew Hunter.”

“Seduce the god damn Jew Hunter, that’s right.”

You run a hand through your hair. “Why can’t you do it?”

“I’d love to, I would, but I just don’t think I’m his  _type_.”

You sigh. “This is shit.”

“Grade A shit, you bet your sweet lil buns it is. Tell me, what do we do?”

“We kill Nazis,” you scoff, “Not fuck them.”

“Well in this par-tic-ular instance, fuckin’ 'em leads to killin’ em. So if we’re gonna get those Nazi maps, then you’re gonna need to get down and dirty to distract the man with the plan. Just don’t let him get your name.” You must have an incredibly detesting look on your face, because Raine laughs. “Come on, fake it! Ain’t nobody better'n you at that.”

“He won’t let me,” you say, “Haven’t you heard the stories? He’s too smart. He’ll see right through it.”

“He’s sharp,” Raine nods, “But hell, you’re sharper. You’ll figure somethin’ out.”

“Do I have to go all the way?”

“You have to go pretty damn far. The longer you take, the better for us.”

“Let’s hope the colonel knows how to last,” Donnie jokes.

“Right,” you whisper, and take a deep breath.

Your heart is pounding hard in your chest, legs almost jelly as you walk into the gala. You had been talking yourself through this all night, and sure, you were a skilled conversationalist and a magnificent actress, but could you really take on the famed Jew Hunter’s wit with only what’s between your legs as a weapon? You’d never even met him before, only heard stories of the big bad Colonel Landa. You could only imagine how horrible he would look, how terrible he would be to speak to. You flatten your tight dress against your stomach, wondering if there would be bullet holes through it by the end of the night, and turn to Raine.

“How do I look?”

“Scrumptious.”

“Suits me,” you sigh, and straighten your posture, striding through the crowd with a delicate confidence that could garner the attention of any man present. You part company with the Basterds, looking around the room. Either Hans was on his way now and hadn’t arrived yet, or he had and you were up shit’s creek trying to find him for the rest of the night. You keep your calm, cool, collected persona as you scan the room. You grit your teeth as you think back to the exchange you’d had with Raine on the way here.

_“How am I supposed to identify him?! I don’t know what he looks like, you never showed me a fucking picture.”_

_“You’ll know it’s him. I assume he commands a room, so you’ll know it’s him immediately.”_

You pick up a glass of champagne, and just as you’re about to take a sip, you notice someone has just entered. He’s followed by about four men in uniform, and you strain to see his face.

Your heartbeat picks up as people part for the man.

That’s him. That’s Landa.

You can barely identify what he looks like from here, but you can tell by his presence alone that it’s him.

You set down the champagne, running over your plan again in your mind as you strut with purpose toward the private dining room he’s being taken into. You turn to nod over at Raine, who nods back, and just as you’re readjusting your gaze, you feel a hand on your arm.

“Fraulein. May I have this dance?” It’s an officer, and he’s giving you a boorish grin.

“Eh… danke, aber nein,”  _(thank you, but no)_  you smile, hurrying past him. The man looks angry, but you don’t have time to worry about him; you can only play this evening over in your head again and again until–

“Oh!” you clap a hand over your mouth as you open the door on the table of high ranking German officers. “Herr, vergib mir. Es scheint, ich habe das falsche zimmer gefunden!”  _(Gentleman, forgive me. It seems I have found the wrong room!)_

You gaze around, scanning for your target. Another officer looks you up and down, and gives a huff.

“Dir sei vergeben. Lauf jetzt mit.”  _(You’re forgiven. Now run along.)_

“Jetzt jetzt,” you hear a smooth voice say, and you realize it’s Landa talking. “Schande, du würdest so unhöflich zu einer dame sein, die ihren weg verloren hat, Lieutenant.”  _(Now now. For shame you would be so rude to a lady who has lost her way, lieutenant.)_  He turns around, staring at you curiously from his chair. “Du. Bist also hier auf unser kleines abendessen gestoßen, süßes Fraulein.”  _(So. You’ve happened upon our little dinner here, sweet girl.)_

“Ein fehler, Herr Colonel!”  _(a mistake, Colonel)_  you insist, already backing out as per your plan. Your mind is going a thousand different directions, but your main focus currently happens to be Landa’s distinct features– button nose, graceful jawline, and eyes like a hawk.

“Ein fehler? Nein. Ansichtssache. Ich nenne es…” he gestures, “serendipity.”  _(A mistake? No. A matter of opinion. I call it serendipity)_. He smiles, and holds out his hand for yours. You almost forget to breathe– those eyes are captivating, twinkling with a glint of danger but also something distinctly gentle. His lips are turned up in some sort of charming smile, encouraging you to oblige him. You stop your retreat, and extend your hand. He presses surprisingly soft lips to it. “Bitte.” He gestures to the chair beside his, and pulls it out for you. You take a seat, and start to wonder if Raine knew just how damn charming this man was!

“Wie auch immer, wie ich schon sagte–”  _(anyway, as I was saying)_  the rude lieutenant goes on, but Hans holds up a finger.

“Ich werde ganz unverblümt mit dir reden, Heinrich, weil ich ehrlich gesagt meine geduld genügend geprüft finde. Nichts, was du heute abend gesagt hast, interessiert mich.”  _(I am going to be quite blunt with you, Heinrich, because I frankly find my patience sufficiently tested. Nothing you have said tonight interests me.)_

You try to figure out why 'Heinrich’ looks so utterly terrified by Landa’s unrest– mm, the intensity of the colonel’s gaze is frightening, though.

“– Jetzt würde ich lieber die geschichte dieses kleinen spatzen hören, wie sie direkt in Hans Landa’s zimmer flog.”  _(Now I would rather, instead, hear this little sparrow’s story of how she flew right into Hans Landa’s room.)_

His eyes are twinkling, but you can already sense the mistrust in his voice and mannerisms; he’s looking at you with a sweet smile, but you read it right away. It’s a smile of condescension. It’s a smile of warning, daring you to invent the wildest excuse you could come up with. It’s a smile that blatantly ignores all you’re putting forward with your body. Your brain begins to work on an alternate approach your plan. He’s intelligent… the only way to grab his attention now and keep it is if you keep up with him intellectually, which should be no problem at all.

“Herr Colonel, du bist zu schlau für dein eigenes wohl,”  _(you’re too smart for your own good)_  you say, stealing his glass of brandy and raising it to your lips. Everyone in the room is stunned by your actions, even Hans himself for a moment. He then rights himself, frowning a little as you set the glass down and go on. “Ich kam heute abend hierher, um jemanden zu finden, der mit mir mithalten konnte. Du sahst aus wie jemand, als ich dir hier direkt gefolgt bin.”  _(I came here tonight to find someone who could keep up with me. You looked like that someone when I followed you right in here.)_  You wink.

A flicker of that same surprise crosses his face, before he regains his hard stare. “Wenn du mithalten willst, meinst du jemanden, der dein kokettes verhalten widerspiegelt, schlage ich vor, du suchst deine unterhaltung mit meinen männern da draußen.”  _(If by keep up, you mean someone who will mirror your coquettish behaviour, I suggest you seek your entertainment with my men out there.)_  His condescending smile widens. “Die moral der armee könnte den auftrieb nutzen.  _(The army’s morale could use the boost.)_

You keep staring at him as everyone else in the room laughs. "Schlägst du vor, dass deine männer sich mit mir abwechseln, colonel?”  _(Are you suggesting your men take turns with me, colonel?)_

“Du siehst aus wie ein großartiges spielzeug.”  _(You do look like a magnificent toy)._  He runs his eyes down your body, less affectionately and more as if surveying a product. You decide to take the step and be cheeky.

“Und was, wenn ich sagte, ich möchte heute abend nur mit einem mann spielen?”  _(And what if I said I only want to play with one man tonight?)_

He blinks, and takes his glass back, sipping on it. “Meine Liebste. Eine sache, die du über mich wissen solltest, ist in jedem katz und maus spiel … Ich bin immer die katze.”  _(My dear. One thing you should know about me is in every cat and mouse game… I am always the cat.)_

You smirk a little. “Ohne frage.”  _(I have no doubt.)_

He stares at you for a good tense five seconds, before he decides he enjoys your banter. He grins, elevating the mood. “Ein getränk für die dame!”  _(a drink for the lady!)_  he calls to the server. You accept it, and avoid the stares of all the officers around the table. The dessert gets served next, and Hans lights a cigarette with elegant hands.

“Würdest du dich um einen?”  _(Would you care for one?)_  he asks you, and you take one, nodding in thanks. He lights yours for you, then drags on his, exhaling a plume of smoke.

You smirk, deciding it’s time to implement the next step of your plan. You move your foot over to graze against Hans’, and he jerks slightly, looking over to you. You smile at him, and venture to place a hand on his thigh. He goes red around the ears a little, before clearing his throat and blaming poor “French” tobacco for his cough.

“Meine Herren, würden sie mich bitte entschuldigen? Ich muss diese junge dame zurück zur party begleiten.” _(Gentlemen, would you excuse me please? I must escort this young lady back to the party)_  he says, and you panic a little. Still, you have to go along with it, and get up, cursing your idea with his leg. 

 _Maybe he doesn’t like being touched! Just your luck… what if he_ isn’t  _attracted to women? Oh, Aldo should’ve taken this god damn assignment after all._

As you two get out though, he does not take you back to the party. In fact, he brings you down a hall, back to a small, empty office.

He makes himself comfortable behind his desk, sorting some papers aside then giving his full attention to you. It reminds you a little of someone being sat down by a boss and getting in trouble, but he has that disarming smile still on his face.

“Bitte. Sprich in deiner muttersprache.”  _(Please. Speak in your mother tongue.)_

You swallow and frown, feigning ignorance. His smile just gets sweeter.

“You do not need to fear me, Fraulein.”

“Ich glaube nicht, dass das stimmt.” _(I don’t think that’s true.)_

His smile never wavers. “You understood me.” You curse your slip up mentally, but he continues easily. “Please, please. Pay me no mind, I tease rough. I insist you get comfortable!”

You finally realize the language charade is useless, and he’s insisting, so there’s no use pissing him off. You smile back. “You’re too hospitable, colonel.”

“I know. It is a weakness of mine,” he says, getting up to pull a chair for you. “Now, now, now, hm, hm. I must admit, I do not know what to do with you. On one hand, you are a very pretty girl who seems to have set her sights on me. At my age, I should not look a… what’s that American expression? Oh yes. A gift horse in the mouth. Is– is that the way you say it?”

“To my understanding,” you manage out.

“–On the  _other_  hand, you must appreciate how wary I am of this situation. I am, after all, who I am.”

“And what would you do to me if I was a spy?” you ask playfully. Hopefully teasing would downplay the possibility in his mind.

He looks at you with a dead serious expression, eyes glinting like knives, and you begin to get the creeping feeling you know exactly what he would do to you. Then another smile comes out of nowhere. “Another cigarette?” You exhale the tension, and accept his offer as he goes on. “Now. How did an American learn to speak such exquisite German?”

“I’m not American,” you lie, maintaining your calm, “I just speak exquisite English.”

He’s intrigued. “What area are you from, then?”

“Düsseldorf,” you reply, and the immediacy of your answer diminishes his suspicion slightly.

“Well. You speak English nicely.”

“That’s not the only thing I do nicely,” you smirk, and he chuckles, sitting back once more. “I must admit  _myself_  colonel, I hadn’t seen you before tonight.”

“No?” he hums, placing his hands in his lap.

“You’ve shattered my expectations.”

“Have I?” he breathes in the smoke you exhale. “And what is the conclusion you’ve come to?”

You tap your cigarette. “You’re not the beast of a man I expected.”

“Perhaps not at first appearance,” he drawls, and you wonder what he means by that. His eyes train hard on yours. His gaze is intense, but never leaves your eyes. He hasn’t even chanced a look down your cleavage yet… maybe this would be harder than you thought.

“And what was your first impression of me?” you ask. He sits forward.

“A nice little appetizer,” he says, and you raise an eyebrow.

“And now?”

“And now, I realized we have long since eaten the appetizer. We are most certainly onto dessert now.”

You feel yourself relax. He’s falling for it. The troubling thing is, you’re actually excited to touch him again. Still, he feigns indifference.

“Are you enjoying?” he gestures to your cigarette, and you nod. “Ah, gut.  I always have the finest shipped out to me to keep in here.”

“And you’re used to the finer things, aren’t you?” you ask, playing with the cigarette between your fingers.

“The finest.”

You get up, and walk over to the desk. Hans tenses a little, but you put him at ease with a hand on his shoulder. You look down to see a bulge formed in his uniform pants, and step over him, sitting down in his lap and facing him. He begins to speak, but you simply hush him, taking a deep drag on your cigarette and then crushing it in an ash tray on the desk. You let the rich smoke curl in your mouth with a snap, and gently lock your lips with his to shotgun the smoke.

He graciously inhales, mouth held open against yours, and exhales out his nose as he moves his tongue between your lips. You begin to kiss him, a hot, wet move of lips, tongue, breath as his hands slide down your back and stop at your hips, grasping there.  _He tastes like sweet tobacco and vanilla._  You grind softly down against him, and he lets out a panted moan into the kiss, sounding far more debauched than he would have preferred.

You slide your hands between you both, sliding them down his chest and unbuttoning his jacket with a slow, lazy ease as you continue to make out with him. He can only sit back and watch as you bite your matte red lip, opening up his uniform to smooth the hand through his light chest hair. You can feel his hard cock in his pants, digging into your ass. His gaze flickers down to your lips, hungry for more, but you deny him, instead moving down to his belt buckle where you unfasten it, one… hole… at… a… time.

“Meinn gott,” he whispers, “Fuck.”

“You curse nicely,” you giggle in his ear, and his hands fall lower, going to squeeze your ass to him. His eyes are searching, almost needy. Nothing like they were in the restaurant. You lightly smack his hands away from your ass, and he can’t do anything about it– he’s fallen under a sort of spell, hypnotized by your control. Just as he’s beginning to lift your skirt and inch toward your panties, the door swings open to an officer waiting.

“Herr colonel. Du wirst benötigt–”

“ICH WERDE DICH GENAU DORT ABSCHIEßEN, WO DU STEHST!”  _(I will shoot you right where you stand!)_  Hans yells, and you startle a little as the lieutenant backs away desperately.

“Es tut mir leid! Es tut mir leid, herr Landa–”

_“Aus!” (out!)_

You grin against his ear as the door quickly shuts, and you try to nip at his ear and go back to your teasing, but he’s tired of the games. He stands up, striding over to the door to lock it, then returns to you, taking off his belt himself and ripping it off.  

Landa grabs your shoulders, flipping you around roughly and shoving you against the desk so that you’re bent over and your breasts are flattened firmly into it. The position is painful against your ribs, but that excites you even more.

“Ich werde dich ficken,”  _(I’m going to fuck you)_ , he growls, unzipping his fly, “Would you like that, Fraulein?”

Before you can temper yourself, you moan. “Yes.”

“Yes, I’m sure you would.” He then tears open the crotch of your stockings and rips off your panties, tossing them away and kicking your legs apart. You groan at his manhandling, and a flicker of worry lights in your stomach.

_You were still faking… weren’t you?_

He grips your thighs, so hard that bruises will form later. His fingers trail down your folds, a couple dipping in to test how wet you are. He hums, and you can hear the undeniable pop of him licking his fingers. You then feel the swollen head of his cock enter you, then in one hard push, he’s bottomed out inside, dragging out and fucking back in doggy style.

“Take it,” he whispers, “My perfect whore, take it.”

“Yes,” you cry, hitting the desk every time he thrusts in, “Yes!”

“Yes what?”

“Yes sir, Herr Colonel, yes!” you scream, and he fucks you hard, slamming in deeper than any man has ever reached. Your walls flutter around him as your wetness coats him, every thrust sending you further into heat. A slap comes down on your ass. You cry out, and he spanks the other cheek. “Oh–” you sob, and he spanks you again, even harder, causing tears to form in your eyes.

“Can’t take it?” he asks in a cruel, mocking tone. “Aw. Pity. I just caught my mouse.” He spanks you again, and you bite your fist, a single tear streaming down your cheek. Another. Another. Your ass must be red by now, and with every spank, he seems to be fucking you harder, getting off on your muffled cries. After a few more pounds, he massages a soothing hand into the raw flesh of your sore ass, stroking you gently.

“It’s alright. You’re doing wonderfully. You took that like a… what’s that expression?”

“Like a trooper,” you growl, and he snaps, giving a mirthless chuckle.

“Aha! Like a  _trooper_.” His smile then disappears, and he turns you around, sitting you on the desk and lifting your leg over his shoulder for a new angle. You nearly sob as he slides in again, stretching you so nice around his big cock. The pain has faded now, leaving a dull sting that’s just right.

 _Bam. Bam_. The desk moves inch by inch.

“Sir… oh, sir please… bitte,  _bitte_ ,” you whimper.

“You sound so lovely begging for me,” he rasps, latching his lips onto your neck and working down to mark the top of your bouncing breasts. You attempt a weak smirk.

“Let’s not f-forget… you were the one begging for me a few minutes ago… mff…”

He grabs your chin and you grimace, then he smacks your cheek hard, sending you clutching your face. He waits for a moment, surveying your reaction, and you look at him in surprise… then another moan falls from your lips. That wicked grin flashes across his face, and he slaps you again on the other cheek, each sharp sting of pain making you wetter. He then brings his hands down to massage the flesh of your still-raw ass, rolling it around and smacking it, a little lighter this time, as he pounds into you. By now, the desk has moved up against the wall, hitting it with loud thumps.

“Ah… ah… ah…” he gasps, holding your leg and thrusting in. Another slap. Pain mixes with pleasure, you want another,  _please_ , another. Slap, he grabs you by the jaw hard. You examine his features, how wrapped up he is in you, and sigh softly. In a moment like this, you could almost forget how horrible a man he is.

He changes his angle once more, and he goes even deeper, beginning to hurt you how rough he’s being. He doesn’t care. His face is animalistic, teeth gritted in a growl as he continues to fuck you, skin slapping against skin the only sound accompanying both of your gasps and groans. His pelvis rubs against your clit, making you cry out.

“Landa,” you moan, digging your nails into his back, and he reaches down to rub small circles over your bud as you fall backward. He moves his lips down again to suck your neck, grazing his teeth there then wrapping his hands around the spot he marked. You choke a little, Hans tightening his hands until you feel your climax begin to tingle, spreading through your body. “D…d…” you try to say.

“What’s that?” he asks, inclining his head.

“D– oh god, daddy!” 

His eyes widen, and he tightens his grip even more as you finally come hard. He lets go of your neck and grabs you, holding you up through your orgasm, and your clenching sends him over the edge as well. He makes sure he’s all the way inside of you, as deep as he can go, until he’s finished as well, then waits a few seconds for you to completely milk him before pulling out.

“Good girl,” he whispers, tapping your pussy with a prim smile, “Right where it belongs.” Your cheeks and ass sting pink, and he drags a thumb across your chin, lifting it to meet his eyes. “Had your fun?” he asks breathlessly.

“Ich weiß es nicht,”  _(I don’t know)_ you breathe, eyes hooded, “hast du?”  _(have you?)_

He gives you a small smile, and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, letting you down. Your legs wobble a bit. You’re sure you look absolutely debauched– you feel it. Then it all starts flooding back to you.

 _Shit._   _Fuck. The timing. Was it enough time? Did the distraction work for the guys to do what they needed to? How long has it even been?_

“What are you thinking?” he asks softly, brushing hair out of your eye. You look up.

“I’m thinking of wearing a very expensive ring on my finger.”

He chuckles. “Ah. And who has paid for this extravagant ring, my dear?”

“Someone quite like me– who only settles for the finest things in life.” You smirk, and adjust your skirt down to your mid-thigh again. “I hope I’ll be seeing you again, Herr Colonel.”

“I trust you will be,” he murmurs, watching you closely with what could only be described as yearning. You then walk toward the door before he can stop you.

“Auf wiedersehen.” You leave the way you came.

 _Holy shit. That did not just happen. You just had mind blowing sex with Nazi Colonel Hans Landa. The fucking Jew Hunter. And enjoyed it! Like…_ really _enjoyed it._

Hans watches the door swing shut, catching his breath and setting his lips in a firm line. Of course she had been an American spy– he could differentiate between a native German and a talented American without batting an eye, he wasn’t stupid– but she hadn’t taken anything or asked anything of him… shieza, he hadn’t even gotten her name. He tries to deduce what her purpose was, working over each point in his mind carefully, but is distracted thinking of her eyes, those lips falling open as she begged for him. It’s been far too long since he’s had a woman who can handle that much without breaking– a woman who can handle him. He wants more.

Trying not to have an existential crisis, you walk out as calmly as you can, hair mussed and stockings slightly ripped. Your lipstick is smudged and you’re sure your cheeks are beginning to bruise from Landa’s force, so you keep your head down until you get outside.

_You definitely pulled that off… but you had never had a man quite like Landa, who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to take it. You want more._

The Basterds are waiting in a jeep for you, and once you’re in, you all disappear down a backstreet.

“Look at you!” Donnie whistles. You give him the finger, slipping off your heels and tossing him one. You breathe out, letting your head loll back. That was exhausting– satisfying, but fucking exhausting.

“Did you do it?” you ask, grimacing as you readjust in your seat.

“Sure did, thanks to you.” Donnie squeezes your shoulder gratefully from the back.

“So. Is Landa as small as he looks?” Utivich jeers, obviously still bitter about his German nickname. You huff, trying to hide your blush by letting down your hair.

“Bigger than you,” you retort, and the guys all holler. Raine booms with laughter, tossing you a jacket to cover up all your hickies.

“Well, looks like someone enjoyed herself some strudel with cream.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll pass, Hansy got there first. Now will someone get this American hero a god damn handkerchief to fix those lips! Looks like Landa likes to get messy.”

You try not to smile, but it’s unable to hide. You’ll never hear the end of this until the war is over.


	4. Neighborly (Dusan Markovic x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You move into a new apartment after downsizing, and your hot neighbor overhears you indulging a fantasy of him.

You hold the phone to your ear.

“You’re insane, (y/n). You haven’t even been there a month, and you’re already fully willing to fuck your neighbor.”

You smirk, unzipping your hoodie as you plop down in a chair and talk to your friend.

“What can I say? He’s a real daddy next door, if you catch my drift.”

“I’m way past catching your drift. You may as well walk over there and knock on his door in your bra and panties.”

“I thought about that last week, and then common sense hit me,” you mumble, peering out your window.

“Thank god for that.”

About a month ago after you had downsized, you had moved into the complex, as your friend had said, and it had been, for better or for worse, right beside a very, very attractive individual. His name is Dušan Marković, and he’s the cocky, rich man who also lives here in the collection of flats. You see him leaving, coming in sometimes, in the elevator– neighborly spots. But every time, it was as if his smile got wider upon seeing you.

Now, it had been a long time since you had been seeing anyone, so Dusan had been the perfect mirage in the desert for you. Why shouldn’t you have a little fun after downsizing?

You walk out of your apartment, carrying a bucket of laundry and thinking about your next door neighbor. As you’re picturing his endearing little smirk and mane of silver curls, the elevator dings, and you come face to face with–

“Mr. Markovich,” you say, stepping into the elevator. He’s wearing a loose brown button up with cargo shorts that make it obvious he’s not wearing anything under them. He shamelessly runs his eyes over your body, taking in your booty shorts especially with a smirk.

“You just moved in next door, mmm,” he muses, “(y/n), yes?”

“Yes sir,” you nod.

“Please (y/n), I must insist you call me Dusan. Shorter name makes room for longer other things, eh?” he winks, and you smile a little, biting your lip. He takes notice of the bucket in your arms, and leans back against the elevator walls– his top four buttons are undone on his shirt, and it’s raising your body temperature fast.

“Why do you do your own?” he asks bluntly.

“What? Laundry?” you ask.

He nods. “There are so many people below you who can do it, why go to all that trouble?”

“Below me?” you repeat, actually looking down.

“I do not mean people below you physically in apartment, funny girl,” he grins, “I mean less important people.”

“Like who?” you scoff.

“Like people who do people’s laundry,” he smiles, lighting a cigar as if there was no law in sight about smoking in elevators.

“I’m fine with doing my own,” you say slowly, smiling. He looks at you curiously.

“You… you’re like Paul. You know Paul from downstairs? He’s nice guy, little bit pathetic guy. You’re nice girl…” he hums, “But… you’re not pathetic girl, I don’t think.” He huffs a laugh, taking a drag on his cigar. “Enjoy your dirty clothing.”

“I will,” you smirk, and exit the elevator. You can feel his eyes shamelessly ogling you as you walk off, and you take a deep breath in.

Oh god. The way he was lounging in there like he didn’t give a fuck, shirt open, shamelessly checking you out– he always seemed to act like this. It turned you on and sent signals through your body your brain didn’t have time to adjust to. You quickly shove your laundry in, and get upstairs, thinking of undoing those last few buttons.

—-

A little later in the evening, after you had finished your load of clothes and everything else you needed to do today, you settle in in your camisole and panties to read. As you try and focus on your book though, your mind starts to wander. You grin as you start to imagine Dusan’s hands on your thighs, that smirking face between your knees. You bet he eats pussy like a master.

Your eyes slide shut as you let the book fall, and your hands go beneath the covers, all the heat from running into your sexy neighbour earlier in the day returning. Your pussy throbs, aching to be filled as you begin to rub your clit in small circles, breathing heavily as you dip one, two fingers inside of yourself.

“Oh god,” you whisper, “Oh, Dusan…” You add a third finger, imagining just how big he is, and bite your lip as another moan rips out. You continue to rub your clit furiously and finger yourself, going deeper each time, deeper still until you reach that spot and curve–

“Agh,” you give a broken cry, picturing Dusan smiling at you, with that silver hair and those squinting eyes, ohfuckdaddy…

He would lick his fingers one by one as he tastes you and groans. “So wet for me,” he would mumble, “Such a beautiful girl for me.”

Your head presses back into the pillow, biting down hard on your bottom lip as you try to stay quiet.

Wait a minute– you don’t have a roommate anymore. You don’t have to worry about anyone living with you, so you can be as loud as you want.

“Oh, Dusan!” you moan, pretending he’s fucking you hard, whispering dirty in your ear, “Dusan, fuck… ugh, fuck me harder! Harder, harder, right there, oh…” you curve your fingers again, wetness coating your hand by now, “Fuck yeah, right there baby….”

You’re so close you can taste it, and just as you’re about to slide home and make yourself come on your fingers, you hear the doorbell ring.

Your eyes fly open, and you pause what you’re doing in mortal fear. Waiting for a second, you see if they’ll go away… it might be Konrad from downstairs, introducing himself.

At 8:00 at night? Un-fucking-likely.

You swallow and wait for longer, but the doorbell sounds again.

“Shit,” you whisper, and get up, cleaning up and padding over to the door. Your thighs rub together, your pussy still desperate for an orgasm, but you try to ignore the throbbing as you make it to your front door.

“Yeah?” you ask uncomfortably, rubbing your thighs together and swinging the door open. You see a smiling face grinning right back at yours.

“Enjoying your evening, (y/n)?”

Your insides churn, and it’s all you can do not to moan.

“D-Dusan,” you say, leaning against the door in a more than suggestive way, “How are you?” He’s dressed in a navy blue bathrobe, with sandals on his feet.

“I have to be honest,” he says, leaning in with a furtive look, “You’ve got me a little horny.”

Your mouth falls open. “E…excuse me?”

He waves a hand. “No need to play around, (y/n). I heard you calling my name.”

You pale. “Oh god…”

“Yes, exactly like that,” he nods, “These walls are paper thin, we can’t hide a thing from one another.” He laughs, winking. You swallow, a blush heating your cheeks. “Now– I thought to myself– Dusan, you should be a good neighbor and come offer to…” he shrugs, “Help the pretty lady out with her predicament.”

“M-my predicament,” you breathe.

“Uh huh,” he smiles, glancing down your body.

“Dusan…” you bite you lip, and then takes a step closer.

“If you want what I think you want, kitten, I have no reservations whatsoever about taking you in here by your hair and fucking you over your kitchen table until you cannot stand anymore.” Your pussy throbs again.

“Fucking hell,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair.

“I know,” he laughs, shrugging. “I’m a little bit asshole. But the world needs assholes!” he grins, then his smile slowly disappears into a lustful leer. “Wouldn’t it feel better if you tried the real thing?”

You moan, and kick your door open. Fuck it– there was no way you were turning this down.

His lips immediately crash into yours as the door falls shut behind you both. Dusan reaches back to lock it blindly as you two kiss your way to the coffee table, surprisingly skilled at this. You can tell that he’s grinning through the kiss, and you giggle a little as he lifts you up to sit on the table.

“Now,” he murmurs, grazing his thumb across your cheek, “Where to start on this gorgeous body of yours?”

“Oh,” you moan, arching your back as your breasts stick out. He nods.

“Marvelous idea.”

With that, he bunches up your shirt, and holds his hands up over your breasts. He gives you a glance to make sure he hasn’t, in fact, misjudged this entire situation, but you quickly nod. His hands close to massage your breasts, making you moan for it.

“Dusan…”

“Yes,” he says, “I want to hear my name as many times as I can tonight.”

“Please,” you whine, and he smiles, patting your hip.

“Do as I say. Take shirt off for me.”

You do as he says.

“Good girl.” His praise makes you wetter. “Now turn around for me, and spread your legs.”

You bite back another moan, but he encourages you to be louder, so you let yourself groan out his name. He positions himself behind you, rocking his hips against your ass and grinding. Your fingernails dig into the tablecloth, and he holds his cock, teasing your wet folds with it.

“Fuck me,” you moan, and he hums.

“You’re mouthy, aren’t you? Do not worry. Dusan will make you feel better.” He chuckles before bottoming out, and you feel the burn of him stretching you. “Mm… when I downsized, not everything got smaller, hm?” he sets off laughing again, and you smile. He’s just as big as you imagined, bigger, and his words of encouragement are bringing you closer and closer to coming.

“Yes… that’s it,” he groans, his head falling back ad he fucks you from behind, “Oh, so tight…”

“Ah! Deeper,” you gasp, and Dusan places a hand on his chest.

“My love, if my girl wants something, she’s going to have to ask nicely.”

“Please…” you sob, “Daddy, can I have you deeper?”

He smirks. “That’s what I like to hear.”

With that, he fucks even harder, each thrust moving the table back. He finally starts to breathe irregularly, his breath coming out in short heaves, and you know he’s close. Working yourself back on him, you moan and squeal like a whore as he reaches around to rub your clit.

“Ohhh,” you bite your lip, and he chuckles low in his throat.

“I have hit the jackpot, haven’t I?”

“Yes! Oh god, yes!”

“Say my name.”

“Dusan!”

“Agh,” he pushes far in, and his hips stutter as he tries to take a deep breath. “Are you–?”

“I’m… I’m–!” you gasp, feeling a dizzying orgasm come on, “Dusan, oh my god!”

“Ahhh,” he growls as he comes at the same time as you, skin slapping skin desperately the only sound around you.

“Ohh,” he smirks, the both of you now lying face up on your floor, “Like I said. You nice girl… but you little bit nasty girl.” He spanks your ass playfully.

You giggle, laying on top of his chest.

About an hour later, Dusan had done up his blue robe again, tied only around his hips, and you had slipped panties back on. You both had had an after sex snack in a bubble bath, and once the tray of dinner-party-esque wine and cheese had been finished, you walk him to the door, sighing in contentment.

“So. (y/n). You need help again?” Dusan leans against your front door frame. “Ask me anytime. Remember– I am your neighbor.” He shrugs causally. “I am obligated to do my neighborly duties. Especially when they involve the sexiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

You smirk his way with a little wave, and he saunters back home with a satisfied sigh. You close the door and grin. If you had known he would be part of the package, you would have downsized a lot sooner.


	5. Ibiza Nights (Christoph Waltz x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your solo Ibiza vacation heats up a little more than expected.

Your toes dig into the warm sand as you make your way down the beach. The sun is shining, as it has been without fail ever since you got here, and the ocean captures your attention with its turquoise allure. Everything here in the Spanish island of Ibiza is beautiful. The fruit arrangements you get delivered to your room in the morning. The pools. The resort itself, most of all.

You had just graduated university, and had come to Ibiza six days ago as a celebration. At first you had planned a girls trip, but the closer the vacation date got, the more you simply wanted to enjoy yourself free of any of your dumbass friends who might somehow derail that plan.

You sigh in content, carrying your sandals with you as you lay down on a beach chair, slipping on your sunglasses. Clad in a tiny string bikini, you feel your absolute best, and you deserve to. This is really what you need right now… a little unwinding this morning before you hit the bar tonight.

Feeling the heat beat down on your face for about ten minutes, you finally let your sunglasses fall down your nose to survey the beach. The waves are rolling, couples are sauntering along the shore, a group of high school students are listening to music around a cabana. Your eyes continue to scan, until they pause on a man standing by the docks. He has on a pair of khakis and an unbuttoned blue shirt under a navy blazer, with dark aviators on. His hair is silver, and he’s about average height. Already interested, you wait for him to turn around. When he does, it’s a revelation.

“ _Hello_ , daddy,” you whisper to yourself, licking your lips. You continue to watch him as he strides away from the dock, making his way to the beach. You stretch out, closing your eyes again to daydream about all the wonderful things he’d know how to do. After about a minute, you feel yourself covered in shade. Ready to tell some frat boy shithead off for gawking, you open your eyes, but are rendered speechless. It’s silver hair, smiling down at you.

“My dear, I was distracted in walking by. You’re enchanting– may I get your name?”

You search for words, almost rendered speechless by his sexy squint. “Yes!” you blush, beginning to smile as well, “I’m, uh, (y/n l/n).” He reaches a hand down to you, holding yours.

“Christoph Waltz.” He’s enigmatic, refined. “I hope to see you around the resort.”

Your smile grows as he winks, slips his aviators back on, and walks away.

You watch him adjust the cuffs of his blazer with a confident gait, a warm feeling spreading through you after just a few sentences exchanged with him. Once again slipping into a fantasy as you settle back into the sun, you smile to yourself. You wonder how much longer he’ll be staying here.

* * *

As the sun goes down, Ibiza turns up. The music is loud, and the beat from one of the poolside bars can be heard thumping through the speakers. You tousle your hair a little in front of the mirror in your beach view suite, and make sure you look perfect. Over top of your bikini, you’ve got a busty long sleeve on, and a pair of little shorts that accentuate your legs. Grabbing your phone and your wallet, you head downstairs to get your drink on.

“Hey baby,” a guy with a Heineken muscle shirt on says, grinning, “Wanna join us?”

“Thanks, but I’m heading to the bar,” you say, moving out of the way. He just whistles as you walk away, and you roll your eyes, navigating toward the bar-restaurant, Shady Hades. You sigh to yourself as you regard the line to get in. It’s a mile long. Getting in line, you lean back against the wall.

Christoph stands at the entrance after bypassing the line, smiling at the maître d’. “Would I be able to get the usual table?” he asks with a smile, and the man nods.

“It’s already prepared for you.”

“Ahh, fantástico,” he grins.

“For one tonight?”

“Indeed, si.” As the maître d’ gets the menu together, Christoph throws a look over his shoulder at all the people waiting– suddenly, he recognizes someone. “Eh, señor,” Christoph pats the stand quickly, laughing and shaking his head, “I am afraid I’m a little bit out of it today, I seem to have forgotten I  _do_ have a young lady joining me.”

“Not to worry,” the man smiles, and Christoph turns, calling out to you.

“(y/n)! (y/n), there you are!”

You look up, frowning when you hear your name. You peer out beyond the crowd, and see Christoph beckoning for you at the front. You blush a little, and walk up past everyone’s staring to join him.

“There you are,” he smiles, and turns to the man. “She must have forgotten I made us a reservation, just as I did,” Christoph giggles, and you play along, shrugging helplessly.

“Silly me!”

The man leads you both to a charming little corner table with a jar of seashells in the middle and a candle. The menus are placed on the table, and Christoph pulls out your seat for you, leaning into your ear.

“I hope you don’t mind. I saw you in line and figured I could save you the night.” He chuckles, and you nod.

“I appreciate it.” He looks so suave tonight in a casual suit, silver hair combed back and eyes just as intense as the time you met him. You can’t help but feel under dressed, as you were only planning to sit at the bar, but he seems to beat you to worrying over it.

“Don’t concern yourself over your attire. You look lovely the way you are, my dear.” Your blush deepens as you take a sip of your water. “Well. I  _must_ say this is quite serendipitous.” He takes his napkin, placing it on his lap. “I certainly hoped I would see you again around the place, but I did not expect to.”

“I’m here for another two days,” you tell him, “If I’m going on vacation, I’m doing it right.”

“Hear hear,” he grins, lifting his glass, and you clink it. The waiter comes, and Christoph orders some wine.

“I assume you drink,” he hesitates, and you snort.

“It’s what I came here to do.”

“And… did you come here to do anything else?” he asks, and the eyes he flashes you are far too playful to mean anything else. You just smirk, folding your napkin.

“Why did you approach me today?”

“Because I thought you were a beautiful woman. I don’t tend to pussyfoot around in that department.”

“So, you saw me, and… you liked me, so you wanted to introduce yourself to me?”

“That’s usually how attraction works, yeah,” he says, and you huff a laugh.

“Why me? There’s a billion girls to choose from around here.”

“And ninety nine point nine nine nine of those girls are preoccupied with beer kegs and their short term boyfriends,” he smiles. “You seemed to be the only  _mature_ one around.”

“How do you know I’m not a party girl in bed?” you tease.

“A little “party” in the bedroom can be a good thing,” Christoph takes a sip of his wine with a smirk, “Regardless, I intend to find out just what kind of lover you are.” Your legs cross. He’s so straightforward, and sure of himself. You love it.

“How long have you been coming here? They obviously know you,” you gesture around.

“I used to come here when I was a bachelor,” he says, “A long time ago. I got married, she left, and voila,” he smiles, “I was free again.” You giggle, and he patters his fingers.

“Of course, it does get a little lonely here by myself. Ibiza is such a treasure to behold, but enjoyed with someone else, ah–” he puts his hand over his heart, “it is heavenly.”

“Mm,” you muse, “It is gorgeous.”

The waiter comes back, and you both order some food. Christoph orders you both some snacky starters.

“Finger food,” he grins excitedly, “Oh, how I love it.”

“You do?” you raise an eyebrow.

“Oh, yeah. I rarely get to enjoy food with my hands when I go out for dinner in Vienna. This is sort of my escape– I come here to do the things that wouldn’t be considered proper back home.”

You catch his heated stare again, and quirk an eyebrow, sipping your wine. “That’s why I picked Ibiza. It seemed like a good place for an adventure.” He hums. “So you’re from Vienna?” you ask.

“I am,” he nods. “Ich sprechen ze Deutsch, (I speak German) mais aussi un petite montant de Francais (but I also speak a little French) y un toque de Español, porque cuando vengo aquí (and a little Spanish for when I come here).”

“Bravo,” you giggle, and he raises his eyebrows.

“Italian?”

“Non tanto, (Not much) mais je fais parle en Francais.” (but I do speak French).

“Magnificent,” Christoph beams, leaning across the table to take your hand, “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I think I’ve got a few more in store,” you tease, and his eyes fill with desire. The food comes, and you both dive in, exchanging little facts about where you came from, what you studied, and eventually, he sits back, leaving a message to charge to the room.

“Ready to go?”

“Where?” you ask.

“The pool of course,” he says, “I know a private hot tub nobody else visits. Our little secret.” He gives a furtive wink, and beckons you along. You grin to yourself as you get up and follow him, and he leads you past the line that still wraps around the wall outside. Before going, he stops at the bar, makes his way through the crowd of rowdy teenagers, and snags a bottle of vodka.

“A little something to knock off the edge,” he whispers, and you walk out to the pool areas, overlooking the shore. 

“I’ll just get into my suit,” you say, popping into a changing stall, and he nods. As you walk off, you think you hear some people shout: “ _Mr. Waltz! Over here!_ ” but you guess since he’s been coming here for so long, he must know a lot of people.

Stepping into the shack, you peel your clothes off, and adjust your bikini. Exiting, you see Christoph jogging back from a group of people, and and he takes your hand, leading you through some trees to a little hideaway. It’s a small hot tub surrounded by brush, with a perfect moonlit view of the ocean.

“After you,” he smiles, and you get in, settling down with a moan. “Ah, that nice?”

“Yes,” you bite your lip, “It’s perfect.”

“Let me join you, then,” he says, and unbuttons his shirt, shuffling it off and sliding in. He groans as well.

“You’re right. It is perfect.” He picks up the bottle of vodka, uncaps it, and hands it to you.

“After you.”

You take a drink, and hand it over with a grin. He takes a drink from it too, and wipes his mouth, setting it down.

“Ooh! No glasses, this is so exciting!” he rubs his hands together, and you wonder how such a sophisticated man can be so cute.

You watch the turquoise light of the pool reflect off Christoph’s face as he sinks down to his neck in the water, and sigh. You had planned on showing yourself a good time, not being shown one by the most handsome man in Ibiza. You let your legs create a ripple, and float a little closer to him, until you’re inches away. You then move your knees to either side of him, and bring your lips to his in a gentle kiss. His lips welcome yours, and his hands go to the back of your neck, gently coaxing you closer. You moan softly into the kiss, connecting your lips over and over. You continue to make out with Christoph like this, hands tenderly moving through one another’s hair. His tongue slips between your lips, and you allow him in, the kiss getting more passionate until you’re practically dry humping in the water– you’re dragging back and forth on his thigh as he rolls his hips up, all the while both continuing your kissing. The night air is filled with the low hum of distant music, the crashing of waves, and the two of your lips meeting again and again.

You break away first, looking into Christoph’s dazed and frankly smitten face, and smirk wickedly.

“I really wanna see your hotel room.”

Guests nor hotel employees alike question it as you come through the doors still kissing, but Christoph insists you look presentable at least for the lobby, as his reputation is at stake here.

“Tell me what you’re going to do to me once we’re in that elevator, daddy,” you breathe in his ear.

“You’ll see very soon, my sweet,” he puts on a bright smile for everyone, waving to the concierge in a friendly manner as you two fast-walk to the elevator. It feels as if it takes forever to close, but when it does, Christoph takes you by the waist, holding you against the wall of the elevator. His hand runs down your shoulder, and he presses a kiss to the middle of your back. Your floor dings, interrupting whatever that was leading to, and he takes you out, down the hall, and to the corner suite, beach view. 

The floor to ceiling windows have the curtains open, and you can see the rainbow lights of the club patio, as well as the pool bar getting rowdy. The ocean is endless, as is the sky full of stars.

Christoph comes up behind you, brushing your hair from your neck to start undoing the strings of your bikini. You turn around, and he pulls it off, letting it drop. You undo the two buttons he’s got done up after swimming, and he walks you back toward the bed, sitting you down on it and kneeling.

“Mmmm,” you groan, realizing what he’s going. You hadn’t had a guy do this right for a while. He looks up at you with playful eyes as he takes your bikini bottoms by both fingers, tugging them down slowly, teasingly. You hurry him by kicking your legs a little. “Mmm, daddy, please…”

“Ah ah ah, patience, little one,” he smiles. Finally, they’re off, and you’re bare to him. He parts your knees, eyes hooded with lust, and puts his face between your legs, closing his mouth–

“Ohhh,” you moan, your back arching, “Oh, Christoph…” His tongue sweeps down your clit, back up, and circles it, as his lips latch around and suck gently. It’s absolute bliss– he definitely knows what he’s doing. “Oh my god,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his silver hair, “Don’t stop…”

He hums, almost sending you into overdrive, and his tongue dips into you, thrusting in a few times before he replaces it with two fingers, curving gently upwards to reach that perfect spot. His tongue goes back to pay attention to your throbbing clit, and he adds a third finger, going even deeper, deeper, oh–

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna come,” you breathe, and Christoph doesn’t let up, continuing to pleasure you with his mouth and fingers until you finally feel your first orgasm wash over you, your back arching and hips thrusting into his mouth. He pulls away, grinning, and you crawl back on the bed, where he joins you. You can see and feel how hard he is now, his erection straining in his pants. You reach down, and take the shorts off, exposing his cock to cool air. He sighs, and you flip him over so that you’re on top, getting in position and then slowly sinking down over him, gasping as he stretches you.

“ _Ohmy_ –” he mumbles, his hands flying to your hips, and you begin to move, putting your hands above Christoph’s head and rocking back and forth on his cock. He bites his bottom lip, staring up at your bouncing breasts in awe, and you sit back, rocking down harder as you feel the head of his cock slide deeper. After a minute, he taps your thigh, and you slow down your gyrating. He gets on top, and urges you onto your stomach. He has one hand around your stomach, and you feel him push into your from behind, the angle helping him fill your pussy just right.

“Ah, Christoph!”

“(y/n),” he chants, “Ah, that’s magnificent…” You squeeze around him, and he reaches down to stroke your sensitive clit some more as he fucks you with fast, punctuated thrusts. “I’m close,” he whispers, “Are you almost there, (y/n)?” Every thrust brings you closer, and you’re just on the brink of your second orgasm, your wetness coating his cock as he continues to pound in.

“Ahhh!” you cry, your eyes squeezing shut, and he pulls out, turns you around, and enters again, thrusting until you cry out his name. He holds you tight as you come again, and as your body shudders and clenches around him, he can’t help but release, panting your name into your hair as he pulls out, coming into his fist.

You both roll over, and Christoph drapes an arm out, silently encouraging you to get close to him. You do, resting your head on his chest, and he looks down at your sleepy, satisfied expression.

“Good?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Amazing,” you grin lazily, and he wraps you up in his arms.

“Wonderful. Pleasant dreams, my (y/n).”

* * *

The rest of the trip couldn’t, of course, compare to that night. You were a little sad to say goodbye to Christoph when he had to go back, but you made sure to give him a long goodbye kiss. The next day after that, you flew back home as well, sufficiently relaxed, with only the memories of the good time and a good tan to show for it.

You turn on the TV one morning, flicking through channels. Commercial, Miami Vice rerun, commercial, Oprah, commercial–

_“–Waltz, here to promote his new movie, Downsizing.”_

You pause on Good Morning America, and your heart nearly stops. That was…

 _“Great to have you here, Christoph,”_  the host smiles.

 _“It is great to be here,”_  Christoph nods through the screen.

 _“Now, it looks like you had a great time on holiday, huh?!_ ” Michael asks, and you watch as Christoph blushes.

_“It was fantastic to return to Ibiza, as always.”_

_“Who’s the girl?”_

Your heart skips another beat as they show a tabloid that reads “Christoph Waltz and Mystery Girl Heat Up Ibiza”. You cover your mouth. That’s you. That’s your bikini. That’s the resort. That’s his boat!!

 _“I wish they would not refer to her as the Mystery Girl,”_  Christoph mutters, looking at the tablet,  _“Kind of rude. Of course, they don’t know her name, but…"_ He huffs, looks at the camera, then smiles a little. _"She was a special lady, and we shared a special time together. I really have nothing else to say on the matter– that, as they say, is that.”_

You bite your lip and giggle, and Christoph looks back down again, flipping through the Hello magazine as he’s being asked questions. You leave the TV on in the background just to hear his voice as you unpack, thinking of your trip some more with a little bit of heartache, but you gasp as something falls out of your back shorts pocket.

A number, and a message:

> _I would very much like to talk (or more) with you again. Ton Amour, Christoph._

You hold it to you, flop back on your bed, and get out your phone.

 


	6. Stargazing (King Schultz x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After escaping your father Big Daddy Bennett and your home in Tennessee with the doctor and Django, you contemplate the little crush you’ve got on the German bounty hunter. Not able to sleep either, King joins you by the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did try to make this as inclusive for all readers as possible, but the reader in this is Big Daddy’s daughter because I thought that might be an interesting POV to explore, so just to let you know, it’s written from a caucasian perspective.

Your arms slide behind your head as you gaze up. The mountains you had been travelling through for the past week allowed for a beautiful view of the vast open sky– it reminded you of your favourite thing to do when you were a kid. When you were maybe 13 or 14, you used to run out into the fields on a hot Southern night, and lay down in the grassy areas, listening to the grasshoppers hum and the crickets chirp. The sky was so open… life back then, when you didn’t understand what was happening around you, was blissful. Then, as you grew, those late nights of calm were disturbed by the fights you started to have with your father, after realizing what was going on. Shouts disrupted the night air, the sound of crying echoed, and the sharp crack of a whip woke you from your daze.

The stars looked much prettier now that you no longer lived on your family plantation. The sound of low humming pulled you from your stargazing, and you turned to look beside you.

“My apologies,” the doctor smiles, “Did I wake you from your thoughts?”

“It’s alright,” you smile back, “They weren’t the most pleasant thoughts, so you’re welcome to keep distracting me from them.”

King chuckles. “In that case, Miss Bennett, can I pour a fellow insomniac some coffee?”

“Thanks,” you nod, and the bounty hunter continues humming as he pours two tin cups of the black liquid. Being from the South, you mourn the lack of copious amounts of sugar and cream, but such luxuries are something you’re going to have to get used to living without now.

“What’s that tune?” you ask, graciously accepting the cup.

“That?” He shakes his head, taking a sip of his coffee, “Oh, that was just an old German lullaby, nothing special.”

“What’s it called?”

“It’s called Wiegenlied. Do you like it?”

You nod, and King smiles, resting his back against the rock by the crackling fire. “For the life of me, I cannot even remember the words. I just remember liking the sound of it when I was a boy, and it stuck.”

“How old were you when you first heard it?” you ask.

“You know, you’re just as curious as Django,” King chuckles, and curls his moustache thoughtfully. “I was very young, I cannot remember exactly how old I was, Fraulein.”

You nod, and he looks over at you silently, taking in the way you look into the flames. “Are you alright?”

You’re quick to look up and blink away any melancholy. “Of course.”

King hesitates. “I only ask because you…” he gestures, realizing the blunt way was the only way to put it. “Well, you shot your own father eight days ago.”

You feel your jaw clench as you think of your father, Spencer Bennett, and how he used to like the name “Big Daddy”. You remember lining up the gun eight days ago, how Dr. Schultz had let you be the one to take the shot as he high tailed it away from the burning cart. You feel sick to your stomach, but it’s not from recalling the blood that splattered over his cream white shirt that night. It’s the way he treated all those slaves, all those people he owned. It had taken you years to understand the extent of the horror you had been complicit in growing up, but when you did, you couldn’t stomach it any longer.

“The bastard and his band of bagheads deserved it,” you grumble, taking a long drink, and King raises his glass slightly.

“Wunderbar, I agree.” He goes to drink too, but his eyes soften a little. “Still… he was your father.”

“Big Daddy was no more my father than the man who raised me from birth when my mama died. A slave. Someone my father owned, who was twice the man he was. If I had to make that decision again– kill him and free all those people myself, I would.”

King nods slowly, and finally drinks, before setting his coffee down. “Do you miss home at all?”

You watch a flame catch a smouldering twig. “A little.”

A comfortable silence settles between you two, only the wind whistling through the mountains and the sounds of Django’s soft snoring filling the air around you.

You steal a glance the bounty hunter’s way. He’s attractive for his age… almost as old as your father had been, but he had a youthful twinkle in his eye, with an infectious smile that could melt the snow in North Dakota. You had found yourself developing something of a crush on the older man these past few days.

King had taken you under his wing, but he was struggling with his perception of you. What were you to him? Ah, it didn’t matter. Tonight was for the stars, not for worrying over trivial things that probably weren’t even crossing the young girl’s mind.

“May I ask… what you were thinking about earlier?” King asks, settling further into his sheepskin coat. You exhale through your nose, looking away from him and back into the fire.

“I was thinking about being a kid again. How I used to look up at the sky and think.”

“And did you think of anything particularly noteworthy?”

You shake your head. “I was a lonely child. Spent most of my days practicing the violin. Looked after my little sister, before she died of the yellow fever. Not many people came around the house, so I mostly just kept to myself.”

“I was very much the same,” King muses, “I had one brother. We were inseparable until he was taken from me ten years ago. That’s when I decided to get into this business.” He tilts his head. “You might say I got a taste for revenge.”

You smile. “I think I might a taste for it too, now.”

King stares at you, a mix of intrigue and fondness in his eyes. “You must be careful, my dear. Revenge is sweet, there is nothing sweeter– but it will get you killed.”

“You’re still alive,” you point out.

King shrugs. “Yeah, well I’m the best bounty hunter in the south, I don’t count.” You smile, and he smiles as well. He then frowns. “Young Django snores louder than a train whistle.”

“I think he hasn’t had very many good sleeps,” you point out, and King nods.

“True. Speaking of, you must be in constant discomfort– I’m afraid we don’t travel with the same pleasantries you’re used to.”

“It was my choice to come with you,” you say, “I could use a little toughening up.”

“You’re doing a magnificent job with it, too,” he teases, “Being the southern belle you are, I imagined you would do nothing but complain for at least the first month.”

“I still have three weeks to make up for it,” you grin, and he laughs.

“Still. We must find you room and board before winter time comes.”

You pause. “I’m staying with you… right?”

King frowns. “Of course not, I don’t want you shot or severely injured under my protection!”

“King,” you say, sitting up in full seriousness, “I came along with you two to stay with you two. You can’t just dump me off in some state and expect me to live out my days there.”

“Not your days, you’re still very young…” He falters as you glare, and tosses up his hands. “I can’t in good conscience let you travel with us beyond next month. The winter will be harsh, and as much as you don’t want to admit it, you are not used to it. Besides, Django has subsequent business in Greenville, and I’ll be damned if I’m taking you to that hell on earth.” He snorts, finishing off his coffee. “Perhaps I can leave you with Sheriff Gus! He and his wife have a lovely cabin up North, and have always been more than hospitable, I’m sure they would love a daughter to–”

“No,” you crawl over to him. You’d only been around the man for eight days, but separating from him now almost seemed to tear you apart. “I…” you blush. “I enjoy being around you.”

King blinks a couple times, and swallows. “I enjoy your company as well, (y/n). But I’ll be able to visit you there.” You crawl even closer, and King meets your eyes, staring into them.

“I won’t stay somewhere else. If you can’t take me with you, you need to leave me to travel alone… with no one around to stop me.”

He sighs, feigning irritance. “You’re terribly stubborn. Fine, sheiza, you can stay on with us over winter. But if it gets too dangerous, you will stay with Sheriff Gus while Django and I collect the bounty. That is my final word.”

“Deal,” you nod, and playfully shake his hand. The handshake lingers longer than it should, and you can’t help but notice how intently he’s looking at you.

“King?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips, before he catches himself. “Mm?”

“What did you think when you met me in Tennessee?”

He exhales, running a hand through his silver blonde hair. “Well, I certainly thought it was remarkable that a young lady of your stature and geographical affluence had abolitionist values.”

“No. What did you really think?” you urge softly.

He frowns a little bit, huffing.

“I thought…” He seems to contemplate his answer deeply, brow furrowing. You bite your lip, staring up at him, and every second that ticks by brings him closer and closer to you. “I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he admits, and you place your hand over his, pressing your lips to his. At first, he tenses, but after a minute more of your lips on his, his hands fall to the back of your head, urging you to stay there. His thumb strokes down the back of your neck as he kisses you gently back, again and again, worshipping your lips, until he finally tenses again and moves away.

“I can’t.”

“What?” you whisper.

“I can’t let you do this. I’m too old–”

“You’re not.”

“–and I feel I would be taking advantage of you. You’re so young!”

“I’m not a child.”

“You might as well be, I’m twice your age! Meinn gott!”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I could never give you the life you deserve.”

“What the hell are you talking about?! You just made $2000 from Mean Jake Silverstrike alone!”

“I do not mean money, I mean…” he gestures around, “Lifestyle, care! (y/n),” he hisses desperately, “I can’t let myself fall for you.”

“Then don’t fall for me,” you whisper back, and kiss him again. This time, after weak protest, he can’t help but allow you to move into his lap, breath quickening as you feel for his buttons. Resigning himself to the fact that he can’t resist you now, he helps you with the buttons, getting his shirt open. You move down his chest, pressing kisses to it and down to his stomach. His eyebrows move together, and he lets out a panted breath, careful to control himself. You then move back up to his lips, and he grasps your back, rolling you over so that you’re on top of him and he’s laying down. Taking advantage of this position, you reach back and untie your dress so that your breasts are free, and he looks at them with so much want it makes you shiver. He gazes up at you for permission, and you nod eagerly as he takes both in each hand, moaning softly as he rolls them and massages them. You bite your bottom lip hard, rocking your hips against his as he continues to touch you, and with every roll of your hips, you can feel his erection become more pronounced.

“King…” you sigh, biting your lip.

“Meine liebchen, are you sure?” he breathes, and you nod, unbuckling his trousers. With each hand, you slide down his suspenders, and finally, he removes his pants. You groan at the sight of his manhood, and as you take him in your hand, he can only throw back his head.

“When was the last time somebody touched you like this?” you breathe, wrapping your fingers around his half mast cock. He hisses quietly, letting out a needy little noise.

“L-longer than I care to admit,” he manages a weak smile, and you smile back, beginning to stroke him. His hands bunch up in your skirts, beneath them to your thighs, and he begins to slide them down so that you’re completely naked. The cool night air hits your body, perking your nipples slightly, and King puts his hands on your hips, guiding your rocking. You continue to stroke him to full hardness, dragging yourself back and forth on his thigh– every thrust of your pussy against him makes you wetter, and soon, you can feel that you’ve soaked the leg of where his trousers are around his knees.

“I–” you blush hotly, and he directs your gaze back to him with a little shake of his head.

“Do not be embarrassed, Fraulein. You are magnificent.”

You moan, and stroke his precum over his cock, until he squeezes your arm desperately. You then gaze at him with lust filled eyes, and lift yourself up, over him, and sink down on his hard cock. He stretches your walls, and you take a moment to adjust before starting to ride him, laying a hand against his chest as you give him slow, deep movements on top. He nudges his hips up with every push down, reeling from the sensations of being inside someone so warm and tight. You gasp after a few more thrusts, already feeling your climax build. He reaches down, and finds your bud, stroking it gently as you bite back a cry. He begins to grunt your name as he also gets close, and you soon fall overtop of him, chest to chest, as he fucks you from beneath. His fingers bury themselves in your hair as he thrusts again, again, rubbing you with his other hand.

“King– King, ah, I need you–”

“I’m here. I’m here, I’ve got you. You’re wonderful,” he whispers in your ear, “So, so perfect.”

At this, you come with a broken cry, and he stalls for a second, holding you firmly by the hips as you feel his warmth fill you, coating your walls. Your pussy squeezes around him, milking him, and when you’re surely both finished, you slide off of him, snuggling up under his arm. He easily fits you in, holding you close to him as you both catch your breath.

“You know, my dear,” he breathes, moving the hair out of his face, “You’re oddly persuasive.”

Burying your giggles and grinning face in his chest, you listen to his heartbeat and the howling wind as you drift off, the cares of the world falling away as his arms tighten safely around your body. That wave of calm reaches you again– you had found where you were meant to be.

—-

The next morning at breakfast, Django looks up at you two over his stew. Whenever you or King returns his look, he looks back down. Finally, when you go to feed the horses, King gets tired of this, and sighs.

“If you’ve got something to say my boy, by all means, speak your mind.”

Django purses his lips, thinks for a minute, then nods. “So you two’re a thing now, huh? You and uh, the one who hitched with us after Tennessee, Big Daddy’s lil girl?”

“Me and (y/n)?” King scoffs. “Django, don’t be outrageous. Pfft, to think!”

“Don’t pfft me, I heard y'all fucking last night–”

“Goodness sake, ‘making love’.”

“Nah, what y'all was doing was fucking. Now I ain’t in no place to judge, but we just picked her ass up a week ago.”

King sniffs. “And?”

“And… I didn’t know you moved that fast, is all.”

King raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “I don’t… move fast… I wasn’t… we’re not– bah, she’s not–”

“Not what?” you smirk, coming back to sit down. Django gives a lopsided smile, and nods to you.

“Miss, you’s a damn miracle.”

“And why is that?”

“This the first time anybody got him speechless." 

You giggle at King’s pouty scowl, and kiss his cheek.


	7. "Emotional Interview" (Christoph Waltz x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Christoph are interviewing with Fallon, and you play a Valentines themed “Emotional Interview” game. You get some funny ones, but the last one is a little too true to how you feel about your costar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's just fluff :)

You stand backstage in the New York studio wing, listening to all the people out in the audience get their seats. Christoph is sitting beside you, drinking from a bottle of water as a couple of interns are hard at work attaching his microphone properly to his lapel.

You both watch from back there on the small screen, waiting to be introduced. You’re exhausted, having come from two interviews this morning, GMA and E Talk. Christoph had done Seth Meyers last night, and spent this morning going for a walk around Central Park.

_“We’ve got a great show for you tonight, we’ll be right back!”_

You’re given the signal by the producers to get ready to come out, and Christoph comes to stand beside you.

You regard his pout. “What’s up?” you smirk.

“I hate these talk shows. They never ask any good questions,” Christoph murmurs, arms crossed. He really does look like an angry puppy, and it makes your heart flutter.

“I know. Just… try to have fun, I guess.”

He gives you a look, then starts smiling.

“What?” you whisper with a small smile as well.

“I was just thinking about the bakery I went into this morning,” he whispers back, “It was that bakery from that American show everybody loves… anyway, I got a piece of coffee cake the exact colour of the dress you’re wearing.”

“Gold coffee cake?

"Well it had little gold sprinkles, and came with a charming little cappuccino-”

“Like the ones I had on set?”

“Yes, exactly those!”

“Shhh!” an intern tells you guys, and indicates that he’s turned the mics on. You both shut up, and prepare to enter onto the recording stage.

Christoph puts his water bottle down, and you fight not to look at him bending over. This is your  _costar_ – your older, distinguished costar who probably can’t wait for tonight to be over. There’s no way he thinks of you that way, and there’s no way his mind is on that tonight.

“–now, you probably haven’t heard of a little movie called Inglorious Basterds…” Jimmy feigns. The crowd applauds wildly. “Really?! All of you? Well– it just so happens that the second one comes out in three days, and we’ve got the stars here to talk about it, please welcome Miss (y/n) (y/l/n) and Mr. Christoph Waltz!”

You both walk out, all smiles, waving at the studio audience. Christoph takes the chair on the left, and you take the one beside Jimmy.

“Wow. You guys look like you’re having a good night,” Jimmy opens, gesturing over, “Look at Christoph, he’s all smiles compared to last time.”

“Yes, that’s because last time you put me in an atrocious Yuletide sweater,” Christoph deadpans, and Jimmy throws his head back, laughing as the audience also laughs.

“It wasn’t atrocious, c’mooon.”

“Perhaps not for you, you did not have to wear it.” More laughter. His serious face alleviates, and he breaks out into that smile again. “No, but I was just telling (y/n) about a bakery I visited today, the coffee reminded me of something she used to drink on set.”

“So you guys were pretty close on set?” Jimmy asks you, and you nod.

“I mean, it was kind of like what I heard about the first one, where Christoph was kept mostly separate from most of the cast, you know, for effect,” you tell the host, “But craft services is craft services, right? You might just end up sharing some carrot sticks.”

“Oh hey!” Jimmy jokes, “You work here too?!”

“Exactly.”

“This movie takes place right after the last one, picking up and jumping right back in. What do you think made Quentin Tarantino go, okay– this needs a second part?”

“Well with Quentin, it’s always very deliberate,” Christoph says, “If there’s a second part, you know it’s because there’s a second part to the story, not because he wanted a sequel, but because there was more story to be told.”

“Everyone loved the first one, it’s probably one of Tarantino’s most famous films, and the one that launched your career.”

“Yes.”

“Did you enjoy working on this one as much as the first, working with your character again?” Jimmy asks.

“It was like returning to an old friend,” Christoph explains, “Of course, Landa isn’t someone I’d particularly want as my friend, but yeah, more or less.” You giggle, and he shrugs. “Plus, the new cast members, especially (y/n), were wonderful to play off of.” Your stomach flutters, and you try to hide your blush on national television.

“So, it’s… it’s no secret, actually, how much chemistry you and (y/n) have got on screen, and you’ve got something in really life too that the internet has really caught onto.”

“Oh no,” Christoph jokes.

“In fact, this was from just last night,” Jimmy says, and plays a clip from Seth Myers. You’re intrigued– you haven’t seen it yet.

_“And you star in it with the lovely (y/n) (y/l/n),” Seth says in the tape._

_“I do, yeah. I have a bit of a crush on (y/n) (y/l/n),” he admits, and looks down bashfully. Seth laughs._

_“Well, who wouldn’t? She’s great!”_

_“Yes, she very much is that,” Christoph nods, running a hand through his hair._

Jimmy looks back at you two.

“Oh god,” Christoph jokes with a blush, “Were they filming that?”

“The camera is always on to catch the most embarrassing stuff,” Jimmy grins, “No, but that was really cute.”

“Cute? I am not cute,” Christoph protests.

“You’re pretty cute. What do you think of that, (y/n)?”

You don’t want to appear too into Christoph and add more fuel to the fire, so you just laugh it off. “Makes for some great headlines,” you reply.

“Sure does– well, let’s see a very intense scene, uh, from the new, Inglorious Basterds: Volume II, now– (y/n), you play an American OSS officer who ends up questioning Christoph’s character, Hans Landa?”

“Yes,” you nod.

“Great, let’s take a look.”

You look down at the monitor facing you on the stage to see the clip. They chose the interrogation clip, of course, the one that Quentin had approved for promo. On screen, you both are in a dark room lit by one light. Christoph has dried blood on his forehead, running down his nose from the swastika that had just been carved in.

_“Oberst Landa. Ich kann endlich dem Gesicht einen Namen geben.” (Colonel Landa. At last, I can put a face to the name.)_

_"Officer.” His eyes run up and down you, and he smirks. “Please… go ahead, speak your language.”_

_“Hm. So you’ve met the basterds,” you say, gesturing to his forehead._

_“I have. I can’t say I enjoyed our parting terms,” Landa returned._

_You smirk. “I’ll have to chew Raine out for that later. For now though, I can’t say I have much sympathy for you.”_

_“Why would you? You’re American.”_

_“And you will be too, according to these terms,” you frown down at the notes in front of you. “This is one hell of a deal. You sure are smart.”_

_He shrugs. “I’m a detective, my dear.”_

_“The Jew Hunter.”_

_“Not anymore.”_

_You narrow your eyes at him. “Nobody ever stops being a "jew hunter”.“_

_"One does when the war is over.”_

_You put your fists on the table. “And what if I decided to nullify all of these terms?”_

_His eyes meet yours in a warning sort of glance. “You don’t have the authority.”_

_“You don’t know the kind of authority I have,” you growl._

_“You won’t do anything to harm me or put my life in jeopardy,” he simply says, wiping at the blood trickling down his face. “Or it will be the last thing you do.”_

The clip ends, and the audience applauds.

“Oooh,” Jimmy smiles. “Well, it’s obvious you two are very talented… very emotional actors.”

“Yeah,” you shrug, playing along.

“I guess you could say that,” Christoph nods as well, and Jimmy puts a hand on his desk.

“I think it’s time… for an Emotional Interview.” The Roots play the little riff for the game, and Jimmy sits forward. “So here’s the rules– whenever you hear this little ding–” a bell goes, “–the emotion will change. Now since it’s so close to Valentine’s Day, you two are gonna play off each other and it’s going to be love themed. Okay, let’s start off.”

The bell dings, and you and Christoph look to the little monitor:  **(y/n) finds everything Christoph is saying hilarious.**

You look to your costar, and he starts to talk.

“So the other day, I was at the opera–” he begins, and you burst out laughing. He stares at you, perfectly deadpan. “Is something funny? Have I said something that is funny?” His affronted expression is enough to make you laugh for real, and you keep giggling. “I-If you could keep your hysterics down to a minimum, I would like to finish my story,” he says, and you laugh even harder. 

The bell goes, and the emotion changes:  **Unrequited Love.**

“I hope you liked the roses I sent over this morning,” Christoph beams at you. Your heartbeat quickens, but you focus on your role.

“Oh yeah! My crush really appreciated them, he loves red roses.” Christoph visibly deflates. “There he is,” you smile, looking out into the audience at a random man. Christoph blinks.

“Who?”

“My crush. He’s wonderful,” you bite your lip, and Christoph whips his head back to look at you.

_“What?”_

You suppress more giggles at his glare. 

The bell dings:  **Everything (y/n) says gets Christoph hot and bothered.**

“Who makes these?” Jimmy snorts, “This is a family show guys, a family show!” You clear your throat.

"So this morning, I had the best bagel–”

“Ohff,” Christoph moans softly, clutching his chair. The audience goes wild laughing.

“It was so good, with all those sesame seeds–”

“Mm,” Christoph bites his bottom lip, eyelids fluttering. You try not to watch him, in fear of getting just as horny as he’s pretending to be. 

“And when I bit into it…” you continue.

“Good lord,” Christoph gasps, crossing his legs. More laughter, and you try not to think about how turned on this is getting you.

“It tasted like cheese and jalepeno,” you conclude, and Christoph bites his fist. 

“Sorry, excuse me– does anyone have a change of pants on this show?”

The bell dings, Jimmy’s doubled over giggling, and the next emotion pops up:  **Both think the other is lying to them.**

“So… what did you do last night?” Christoph sits forward, toward you.

“Oh, just stayed at home. Watched some TV.”

“Okay, but what did you really do?” he presses.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t try and distract me from the fact that you weren’t  _really_ at Brad’s party last night.”

“As if you actually  _know_ Brad,” Christoph scoffs, and the bell dings as you both laugh.

“One more, let’s make it a home run,” Jimmy announces.

**Extreme sexual tension.**

You take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down, and sit forward, smirking. “You’re just… so handsome.”

“You think so?” Christoph’s voice is lower, “Because I was just thinking to myself how beautiful you look in this light.”

The audience whistles and claps, and you lean even closer.

“I love your hair.”

“I love your lips,” he returns easily, his voice deep and husky. Your breathing gets shallow, and you forget how to speak for a moment as his eyes fall down to your mouth.

“I…” you whisper, and he blinks, pupils dilated….

**DING.**

“Whew,” Jimmy claps, “Is it just me, or is it like a sauna in here!?” You and Christoph break apart, and you steal a quick glance over to him to see that he’s smirking. Your knees tremble a little, but you wave to camera 5 and the audience, giving your best laugh and smile to pretend that all of that was, in fact, acting.

“You can see these two fabulous love birds– I mean actors– in Inglorious Basterds: Volume II, opening this weekend!” Jimmy shouts.

* * *

After the show, both of you return backstage, and you quickly approach Christoph, worried out of your mind he could tell how you felt.

“Hey,” you nudge him, “I hope you don’t think I…” you murmur, “I, um…”

“I know exactly how you feel,” he says, and turns to you, putting his hand behind your head and kissing you. You moan into his mouth, wrapping your leg behind him as he holds it up, and he deepens the kiss, backing you against the studio wall as he slips his tongue into your mouth. You can feel how hard he is by him rolling his hips between your legs, and you whimper out his name.

He finally breaks away, a light blush on his cheeks.

“Scheisse. I didn’t actually think I was going to do that.”

You giggle. “How long did you want to do it for?”

“Since I met you at the reading,” he bites his lip, getting flustered. You melt at his embarrassment, and kiss him on the cheek.

“Me too.”

 


	8. Bedtime Story (King Schultz x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your husband finds you reading a rather racy novel.

“Tired?” Your husband, King Schultz, asks you, noticing you yawning. The two bedroom cottage by the lake you lived in was quiet at this time of night, so you could hear the loons outside. It was peaceful normally, but tonight you were looking for a little fun.

“Mm,” you feign, “I might just settle in with a book and drift off.”

“Good idea, leibchen. I’ll just be at my desk, categorizing my bounties.” He clenched his fist. “Business is booming in the north!”

You grin to yourself as you hop into bed, grabbing the novel from your bedside table. It’s a Charlotte Temple, a guilty pleasure novel. It had all sorts of naughty ideas in it; the last chapter had the main character’s suiter between her legs, using his tongue! Every time you read, you imagine yourself and King in these situations, these positions. It never failed to excite you.

Cracking the book open, you find your place.

 _“Oh, surely sir! We cannot do that with my father just in the next room! He will hear us!”_ Miss Charlotte Temple whispered to her handsome older lover in the novel, and you read on to see what he had to say.

“ _Not if we keep quiet,”_  Mister Montraville whispered back, dragging her in for a dizzying kiss. His hands reached under her dress, and they kept kissing as Montraville slipped his fingers into Charlotte, muffling her cries with his other hand.

You get about 20 pages in, but just as they’re really beginning to go at it, King pushes back his chair.

“That’s it for tonight, no more corpses to sort!” He waves his hands wildly, running them through his hair and down to curl his moustache. You look up, setting your book down, and swallow. In your already aroused state, it’s not cooling you down any to see your husband standing there with his shirt unbuttoned and his spectacles on.

“What is it?” he smirks, that mischievous twinkle in his eyes, “That look always means trouble.” You exhale.

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

He nods, and takes the spectacles off, beginning to undress. He unbuttons his shirt, takes off his boots, and gets into bed.

“Well. I think Django and Broomhilda are adjusting nicely,” he mentions, stripping the shirt off to replace it with an undershirt.

You bite your lips, pressing the heel of your hand down against yourself as you catch a glimpse of your husband’s chest, the silvery wisps of hair there making your head spin. A bucket of ice water would do you nicely right about now.

“Yes,” you manage, “They are.”

Django and Broomhilda had followed you to the northern colony of Massachusetts after narrowly escaping Candyland, and you and King had gotten married, purchasing this place with rich bounty money. Nowadays, Django and King continue their business here.

He reaches over to stroke your chin with a grin. “You astonish me with your beauty. Ah, I find myself wondering every day how I came to find a gorgeous young lady like you willing to settle for a plucked chicken like me.”

Your eyelids flutter from his touch. “You sell yourself short. I only ever had eyes for you.” You swallow, clutching at the sheets as you imagine your fingernails digging into the mattress. This book really set you on fire.

“Is something the matter?” King’s smile fades into worry, “You look flushed. Although I must say, you look lovely with a little color to your cheeks, I’m obligated as your doting husband to check you for a fever.”

“I’m fine,” you assure, “Really.”

He nods again. “Oh, very well. You’re just as stubborn as I am.” King lights his bedside lamp. He then starts to look over a few pages of his own book, before his curious eyes fall on yours. “What are you reading, my love?” he inquires. You pause, heart beating a little quicker.

“Oh. Not bad, but nothing good. A dull book I found in town, at the library.”

He shrugs, and goes back to his own book. As you read on, you feel yourself become so wet you can barely stand not taking care of yourself. Maybe he wouldn’t notice if you…

Your eyes flutter shut, and you supress a moan as you start to discreetly rub yourself under the sheets, imagining King doing all the things to you in this book.  _Oh. Oh, so close, almost there–_

“(y/n), by your need to take up the act of pleasuring yourself, I can tell that the book is, in fact, better than not bad.” He chuckles, pouting a little. “Am I not satisfying my darling wife?” You’re quick to snatch your hand back up.

“Of course you are! I was just…”  _Getting ideas,_  you dare not reveal. He glances over your shoulder, and as he reads, his eyes widen.

“Meinn Gott…” He begins to read. “Miss Charlotte felt Mister Montraville’s hard–” he chokes a little, “–member inside her, in and out and in until she wanted to scream his name, but alas, her  _father_  was adjacent to them, and could be listening.” His mouth hangs slightly ajar, spectacles falling down his nose. “You read this?”

“Sometimes,” you shrug.

“They’re so… explicit!” he blurts, ruffled by the wording. “Do they…” He lowers his voice to a hiss, as if someone’s listening. “Do they arouse you?”

“What do you think?” you giggle, taking his hand under the sheets and letting him have a feel. His lips part as he feels your wetness, and he exhales shakily. He takes his spectacles off, rubbing over his eyes and running his hand through his hair again in a ruffle. You roll your eyes playfully. “They’re only stories,” you point out. He finally turns to you, and gives you a look.

“They don’t have to be.”

You gasp a little, and he cups your face, bringing you in for a soft kiss. Too desperate to go through any foreplay King might have in mind, you push your lips harder against him, and roll over on top of him. You kiss the bounty hunter, again and again until your lips are swollen and King is painfully hard.

“Lift up your shirt, liebchen,” he whispers, his voice rough with lust, “And get on all fours.” As you do as he says, he smooths a hand up your back. “That’s it,” he says.

“Fuck me,” you mumble into the pillow.

“What was that?” King asks, “Little girls must use their words if they would like something.”

“Oh, fuck me daddy,” you raise your voice, he chuckles.

“Very well. As you wish Fraulein.”

You feel the head of his cock between your folds and soon, realizing you’re past the point of teasing, he slams in, ripping a groan from you. He keeps fucking you like this, until you moan that you’re going to come.

A moment later, he pulls out and flips you over gently. He then positions himself between your legs and brings his mouth to you, suckling especially around your clit. “King,” you mewl.

“Yes. Get louder for me,” he encourages, and goes back to fucking you with his tongue. He soon encourages you to sit on his face, and you do, feeling him lick you perfectly while his beard scratches your thighs. He circles your clit with the the tip of his tongue as he jerks himself off, and you fall forward.

“King… oh, oh, I’m coming, oh fuck, right there don'tstopdon'tstop–”

He holds you tight as you ride his face and doesn’t stop his tongue until you’re finished.

Then you take over for him on his cock, and finish him off as he comes with a desperate cry of your name.

You snuggle up under the sheets beneath King’s arm, and he takes his nearby handkerchief off the bedside table to clean off his mustache.

“Well,” you breathe, resting your head on his chest, “You were ready tonight.”

“You’d be surprised,” he mumbles in slight offense, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I’m in the mood far more often than you assume.” He then kisses your lips, and places his book on the bedside table, from where it had fallen from the bed. “So? Verdict? Was I better than your,” he puffs out his chest in a macho manner, lowering his voice comically, “ _Mister Montraville_ in your book?”

You smile, tucking the book away. “Montraville who?”


	9. IHOP (Christoph Waltz x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You take Christoph to the International House Of Pancakes to show him what it’s like, and to eat pancakes. He suggests you two spend the time differently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on Christoph’s episode of Comedians In Cars Getting Coffee :)

“Come on, it’ll be fun!”

“This is not my idea of fun,” Christoph murmurs to you in distaste, “Why did we have to come here? Here of all places?”

“Because there’s pancakes, and you’ve never had pancakes,” you say, and make a “two” sign, the hostess smiling and leading you to your booth. Christoph is still grumbling.

“We could have gone literally anywhere else.”

“Hey! Just let it happen, okay?!” you laugh, “You’re going to experience this the right way.”

“And the right way would be…?”

“With your girlfriend.”

“Hm,” he tries to appear stern, but just ends up breaking into a smile.

You order your pancakes, and point at the menu. “You should get that.”

“The… festive stack,” Christoph reads off, staring at the unappetizing mound of colorful sugar. “Thank you, I would rather not.”

“You’re being a party pooper,” you tell him, and he huffs.

“Fine, I’ll make an effort. For you.” You smirk, and he shakes his head. “However, I am going to make a point to take you to the best cafe in Vienna and show you just how Sunday morning brunch should  _really_  go.”

“I look forward to it,” you tease, sipping your coffee. He sips his, and takes another look at the menu.

“I’ll get the vanilla spice pancakes. They look the least extravagant.”

“Those are my favorite,” you grin, and you two order those when the server comes back around. A little later after trying to eat some, he sighs, picking at it.

“It is astonishing.”

“Really?” you smile.

“–How they can make something look completely different than what it tastes like.”

“Well fine,” you pout, “If you don’t like the pancakes, maybe there’s a little something else you’d like to eat.” He stares at you dead-on for a second, then chuckles.

“You’re not serious.”

“Very,” you respond, dipping a finger into your whipped cream and giving it a lick. He blinks, blushing slightly.

“What are you doing? Stop doing that.”

“What?” you coo, taking another bite and swirling your tongue around the cream on the fork. He rolls his eyes.

“How are we going to do… that? I refuse to have sex with you in a public washroom, (y/n), especially in an… an IHOP! Is that how you say it, I hop?”

“Yes.”

“Good lord.”

“I have an idea then,” you say, and lick your lips once before looking around, and sliding under the table. Christoph’s eyes widen.

“(y/n)!” he hisses, “What are you…!” He feels your hands at his belt, and looks around. “What are you doing?!”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you whisper up, “I didn’t get a chance to return the favour this morning from last night… so here we are.”

“In here?!” he continues to hiss.

“Would you prefer I suck your cock on the sidewalk?” you giggle, and he moans, grabbing your hair under the table as your fingers graze him.

“Be quick,” he breathes, and has to close his eyes as you take him out of his pants. Just then, the waitress comes back around.

“How did you enjoy it, sir?” she smiles brightly, and he white knuckles the table as your warm mouth closes around him.

“Excellent! Just magnificent, thank you.”

“I’m so glad,” she smiles, “Can I get you some more coffee?”

“That would be nice,” Christoph manages out, and you laugh, the vibrations sending him panting.

“W-we… we shouldn’t be doing this here…” he whispers, flustered, blushing and out of breath. He’s letting out short gasps, something he does when he’s extremely horny. His hips tilt up as his cock slides deeper into your mouth, and you grin around it, licking along the sides carefully.

The waitress comes back to fill Christoph’s coffee again, and he thanks her, trying to drink it properly. You suck him again, and he nearly chokes, his head rolling back as he lets out a groan.

“(y/n),” he murmurs, tapping your head, “(y/n), I’m going to…”

You let out a slutty moan, grinding down against your leg, and Christoph comes. You swallow it all, licking him clean and tucking him back up. You then slide back up to your seat, proud grin on your face.

“What were you thinking?” he breathes, clutching his chest.

“I was making your morning better,” you laugh.

“Yes, you certainly achieved your objective,” he mutters, pretending to be mad at you. “Give me that.” He reaches over, and steals the last piece of pancake off your plate, stuffing it in his mouth. Then, as the server comes back with the bill, he makes a covert little motion for you to dab for your mouth. You giggle, and use your napkin.

“When we get home,” he whispers in your ear, putting some cash down, “I think I need a little more to satisfy my appetite.”

You grin, and follow him out.

 


	10. Forgive Me (King Schultz x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King is mad at you. You give him an irresistible apology.

“8000 dollars.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“King, he’s worth  _8000_  dollars!”

“Did you not hear me? I said that is enough!”

You watch your lover as he paces the campsite. He’s obsessively running his hand through his hair and angrily curling his mustache, which are two sure-fire signs he’s not at his happiest with you. Guilt coils in your stomach. King never gets mad at you, and when he does, it’s likely because you did something that made him worry about you.

Still– something inside of you kept you from apologizing.

“Are you saying you’d throw away $8000 instead of letting me take your gun and put a bullet in a stagecoach robber’s head?!” you retort. King turns.

“That’s like asking me if your life is worth $8000 to me.”

“Is it?” you shoot back.

“You know very well it is, dammit.”

You clench your jaw. “You should be thanking me.”

“Oh?” He raises his eyebrows at you. “I should? You’re right. Thank you for stealing my gun, my horse–”

“Fritz likes me better than you.”

“–significantly beside the point, you took my gun and collected a bounty without any help at all.”

“God, you make me sound like a child!”

“Well I apologize if this comes as a shock to you, (y/n), but you have never shot a gun in your entire life and you have most certainly never killed anyone before.”

“Yes I have.”

“Besides that poor devil you nipped in the back,” King snaps, and sits down on a rock, arms crossed in a huff. You soften a little, and the guilt comes back in waves.

“I’m sorry.” He looks over, refusing to fully turn while peering at you. You open your arms expectantly. “Do you accept my apology, my love?”

“I don’t think you fully understand what could have happened to you,” he sighs, tossing kindling into the fire, “You could have been shot. You could have been kidnapped. You could have been–” he stops, shaking his head. “Anything could have happened to you, and I would not have been there to save you.”

“Maybe I don’t need you to save me,” you mutter dejectedly, and he gives you a look.

“Do not start. I am the first to tell you that if I were any gunslinging outlaw, I would not mess with you. Unfortunately, I am not any gunslinging outlaw, I am your former dentist turned bounty hunter lover, and any gunslinging outlaw will unfortunately not chalk a young woman such as yourself up to be much of a threat.” His face screws up. “What am I saying? This is not supposed to be me complimenting you, this is me telling you how irresponsible you were!”

You pout. “I’m really…  _really_  sorry. I didn’t think. I just wanted to make you proud.” He reacts to this a little, but keeps his head down.

“You need to get some rest. We’re up early tomorrow to make for Texas. I’ve made the bed up in the cart, the extra blankets are on Fritz’s back.”

He gets up, and begins to dress for sleep. You chew on your lip, wishing he would just accept your damn apology already. Come on. $8000? That was an insane bounty, and you were pretty proud of yourself for it!

Whatever. King could sulk all he wanted– you’d find a way to apologize properly. 

The next day, just as King promised, you were both up at the crack of dawn for the long journey from Amarillo to Daughtrey. Though you two slept under the same blanket last night, he slept facing away from you.

He really was mad. He must have been incredibly worried. He must have thought you weren’t coming back.

There was that guilt again.

Riding into town, you two finally make it when the sun is going down. Deciding the business of provoking and shooting Willard Peck would be best conducted when the day is young once more, you both check into the town inn.

“Innkeeper!” King calls, taking off his hat and holding it under his arm as you two enter, “A single room, if you please!”

“Yep… just gimme a sec to fix this… here light…” The bald man turns, and gets down off the table.

“Busy night?” King regards the broken bottles and a man passed out with a call girl draped over him in the back.

“Oh that ain’t just a damn whistle,” the innkeeper scoffs, nodding, “I’d offer you two a drink, but… hell, I ain’t got much drink left.”

“Not a problem,” King waves his hand, “We’re simply two weary travellers, ready to fall asleep as  _soon_  as we can.”

The innkeeper nods, and you walk on ahead. When you come to the door, he leans in to King’s ear. “ _Hoowee. She’s a real beaut. Where’d you find one with a nice round ass like that?”_

King blinks. “Somewhere you would never look. Goodnight.” He quickly shuts the door, sighs, and takes off your coat for you.

“You still mad at me?” you ask, and he takes off his boots.

“I’m not happy with you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“How much longer is this gonna go on, hm?” you ask, making sure the door is closed nice and tight, “Before you finally… forgive me?”

“It’s not about forgiving you,” he mutters, arms still crossed as he sits down on the stool at the end of the bed. “It’s the fact that you might do it again.”

“I promise I’ll never… ever…  _ever_  do it again,” you say in a low, sultry voice, beginning to untie your bodice. King frowns a little bit, and you study him. He’s adorable when he’s mad– his lips get all pouty in a scowl, his eyebrows draw together in a cute little scrunch, and his blue eyes narrow. As cute as he looks, you continue.

You undo your corset, lace by lace, letting your fingers twine slowly between the hooks. You then sigh a little in pleasure as the corset comes free, and you hook the straps of your dress under your thumbs, sliding it off. Just as the dress slides down to reveal your breasts through your see-through chemise, you do a turn, facing away. You hear his breath hitch, but when you check over your shoulder, he pretends not to care.  _Fine_ , you think, _I can turn it up._

“I was such a naughty little lady…” you bite your lip, tugging on your skirts. “Naughty ladies don’t learn their lessons until they’re taught just how to behave.” You make a point to graze your fingernails down over your ass, and you moan softly. You hear him readjust in his seat, and you pull your skirts off, working now on your cream coloured pants, sliding them down ever so carefully.

“(y/n),” King tries to protest, “This isn’t…”

You moan again. “I’ve been wanting to get out of these all day.” You roll your hips a little, arching your back, and finally wiggle your hips some more as you drop your pants to the hardwood floor. King’s breathing is audible now, and you stretch your arms above your head, humming as you run your right hand down your left arm, letting your hair fall back. “So… so nice.”

“Hmf,” King huffs, averting eye contact like the grump he’s pretending to be. Oh, no. No way he’s doing that now. You slip your chemise over your head, and toss it behind you. You’re completely naked now, and King’s trying his hardest not to go through the roof in distracting himself from you.

You finally begin to turn, and soon, you’re fully facing him. His eyes are on yours, then travel down to your breasts, lower to your stomach, below more to take in your entire beautiful body.

“This doesn’t change how angry I am with you,” he mutters, glaring at you, “You should have known better, Fraulein.” You smirk, sauntering over. Despite what he says, you can see the visible outline of his painfully hardened cock in his pants, straining to get free. You put one leg over his lap, and sit down, making sure to wiggle yourself on his knee a little.

“Interested?” you tease, and reach down. He doesn’t stop you, just watches closely as you bring your hands to his pants, untie them, and reach in to take his cock in your hand. He takes a shallow breath as your fingers come in contact with his warm member, and you grin wickedly, swiping your thumb up to spread his fluid around a little. He meets your eyes as you pull him fully out of his pants, trying his best to appear disinterested, but while King’s a wonderful actor when collecting a bounty, he’s a terrible one in the bedroom.

“Oh,” he pants gently, head falling back a little as you stroke him once. “Das fühlt sich perfekt an…”

“Does daddy like that?” you ask softly, pressing a kiss to his ear. King stutters a little, gasping for air when you swipe over his swollen cockhead again.

“Daddy… i-is enjoying it very much,” King whispers, lips parting.

“Mmm,” you mumble, pressing a trail of wet kisses down his face and lazily taking his lips between your teeth, leading into a dizzying kiss full of tongue and one another’s slow breath.

“Stop, stop,” King mumbles, stalling your wrist with his hand. You pout.

“What’s wrong?”

He looks at you, his eyes dark with lust. “I have to have you.” You exhale with a shudder, and get up, parting your legs wider and sinking down over top of him so that he slides deep inside of you.

“Ohhh King,  _oh_  King–” you moan.

“That’s it… that’s it… like a good girl,” he chants in your ear, holding your chest to his as you start to work your hips down. “Daddy needs his kitten very much… right there, just like that…”

“Ahh…”

“(y/n), oh my–”

He holds onto you, keeping one hand on your back to keep you steady against him as you ride his cock, and moves the other down to squeeze your ass. You reach back to tug his shoulder length hair, going in for another kiss. His beard scratches pleasantly against your chin, and you smile through the kiss as you tug some more on his locks. He groans your name, and you start to feel his dick throb inside of you.

“Are you close?” you breathe, and he nods, eyebrows lifting desperately.

“I need you, oh, (y/n), scheisse…”

“Say you forgive me?” you bite your bottom lip, stalling your movements and staying seated with him deep inside of you. He moans a protest, but when you grind down against his cock, he nods quickly.

“I forgive you, I accept your apology, all of it, oh!”

“Finally,” you growl in his ear, and you slam down onto him perfectly, his dick grazing your g-spot and making you come hard. Feeling you clench around him, he releases too, unable to hold his load any longer.

“Ah…  _ah_ …  _ah_ …” he spasms, holding you close as his hips stutter up, and you watch his beautiful face as he comes, how his mouth falls wide open and his eyes shut. When you’re both done, you lift off of him, feeling his come leak down your thigh. You smirk, feeling your cheeks heat up, then lay down on your stomach over the bed, combing your fingers through his dishevelled hair from behind.

“King, baby. I  _am_  really sorry for collecting an $8000 bounty on my own.”

He throws you a glance, and smirks. “No you’re not.”

You giggle. “No I’m not.”

 


	11. Right Beside You (King Schultz x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re badly hurt in a gunfight. King tries to help you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff!
> 
> Warning for referenced almost-non con

Bullets whiz past you through the cold Wyoming air as you try and stay out of the deadly line of fire. Diving behind Fritz, you try to urge him out of the way as well– you couldn’t let King’s beloved animal get hit.

“Where ya goin’, girlie?!” a deep voice chuckles, and you feel someone grab you from behind, slipping arms around your middle and picking you up. This isn’t like those nice times when King does it– when he slides his arms around you, rocking you gently against him before he turns you around for a kiss– this is rough, dragging you back through the mud as you kick and scream.

King and Django are preoccupied in front of you with the rest of the Wilson Lowe gang. Django’s taken on Bad Chuck Wilson with two pistols and King is busy getting rid of three men trying to take aim at him.

“Django! Get… get to (y/n)!” King tries to shout, caught between the three coming at all sides. His breath puffs out in small clouds as he swings around to shoot.

“A little busy,” Django breathes, shooting Chuck in his left kneecap. Chuck howls, and falls to the snow. King turns back to look for you, and sees you being dragged away with Bobby Lowe. Whipping back around, he shoots one in the head, and the other in the stomach, kicking snow over his face before he aims to finish him off. Before he can though, the third tackles him, starting to strangle him as Django tries to finish off Chuck.

“Get off me,” you growl, and Bobby Lowe licks his lips, laughing in your ear.

“Looks like I caught me a little something to keep me warm tonight,” he grins, revealing two missing teeth, and you see your opportunity. You knock your head against his, ignoring the pain for a second as you steal his gun. He stumbles back, spitting another tooth out, and you smile to yourself proudly for getting out of his grip.

_“Little bitch!”_

The next instant happens slowly. You hear Django put a bullet in Chuck’s head… but it wasn’t exactly from Django’s gun, and the bullet didn’t pass through Chuck. You feel your entire left shoulder begin to numb, and your hand flies up to where your neck meets your collarbone, to feel blood gushing out.

You barely register the shouting as you fall to the snow, blinking in and out of consciousness. The pain is unbearable…

“Shit,” Django whispers, having already killed Chuck. He scrambles over to you, and King’s eyes widen when he sees the alarming amount of blood. He grabs his and Django’s gun in a flurry, and unloads both rounds of bullets into Bobby Lowe, watching intensely as his body gets tattered. The bounty hunter then drops the weapons, and falls to his knees beside you, holding your head up.

“(y/n)… (y/n), my leibchen, my love, shhh,” he murmurs, eyes dancing wildly between yours and your wound. You try to reach a hand up, but feel that you can’t move. “D-don’t… don’t, just calm down, relax in my arms, here…” He frantically starts to pack snow together, using it to stop the bleeding, but the ice soon turns red, and he’s forced to hold his glove over your neck to stop the bleeding.

“She gon’ bleed out,” Django hisses, raising his eyebrows at his partner.

“No, my boy, she most positively is not,” King mutters, holding his glove tighter against you.

“Uhh, it most positively looks like she is,” Django frowns.

“King,” you choke out, fear filling you. You don’t want to die. Not like this.

“I’m here,” he nods, “We’re going to get you to a doctor.”

“I’m…” you sigh, head rolling.

“You’re just fine, listen to my voice and follow it,” King says, and looks up. “Django, can you help me lift her?”

Django gives him a look that seems to question if this is really worth trying, but knows when it comes to you, Schultz will stop at nothing. So, he hoists you up carefully with King, and you’re placed onto Fritz’ back. King gets up behind you, holding you steady as the three of you head toward the nearest cabin they know of.

“Please!” King cries, dismounting and scooping you up in his arms, “SHERIFF! Please, we need help!”

“What in the hell…?” Sherriff Gus mutters, and his eyes widen. “Schultz? Django? Who– s'at another bounty?” King flashes him a glare.

“She is the most precious thing I have in my life. I  _cannot_  lose her.”

Gus nods firmly, rushing all three of you inside. “Get ‘er in. C'mon, then. Shoot, I s'pose I should just expect this from you two by now…”

You pass out just as Sheriff Gus is sending for the doctor.

About two hours later, you fade in and out as you hear them talking.

“Now that she’s patched up for the time being and y'all have got some coffee into ya, maybe you can answer a couple things for me,” Sherrif Gus says, scratching his head and sitting down. “What in the seven circles of hell was a young girl like this doin’ gettin’ sprayed with bullets?!”

“Not like she wanted to,” Django says.

“Yep,” Gus sighs.

“She was supposed to stay far away when we came up on the Wilson-Lowe gang,” King says, running a hand through his hair. “Django was taking care of Bad Chuck Wilson while I took care of a few acolytes. Meaner Bobby Lowe was unaccounted for, but we thought he was long gone. Instead, he…”

“'Stead, he was snatching himself a little prize,” Django cut in, shaking his head and cracking a few knuckles.

“So let me get this straight. Y'all thought it was a good idea to take a pretty little thing like that along with you crusadin’ through the blustery north in search of murderous maniacs?” Django looks at King, and King looks down. Gus hesitates, face softening. “Hm. We do a lot of crazy things for love, I guess.”

“It’s not just love,” King murmurs, looking over to where you’re lying as the doctor helps you swallow a mixture. “I don’t know what I would do without her.”

Gus hums. “That may be. Love is a tough thing, don’t I know it, but damn, it sure stops you from thinking clear. Listen– I don’t get a lotta bright ideas, but this one ain’t half bad. Why don’t you leave her with us until the summer?”

“What?” King snaps his head up.

Gus puts his hands up. “Leave Miss, uh– now, what’s her name?”

“(y/n).”

“Leave (y/n) with us, and when your business in the winter is done, you come on back and grab your lady love.”

“I, I…” he shakes his head, ruffled, “I simply can’t do that.”

“Doc,” Gus stares at him meaningfully. King looks back to you, and regards how you’re rolling around, groaning. He gets up, and walks over. He can hear your feverish whispers, and as he listens closer, he realizes you’re mumbling his name.

“I’m here, Fraulein,” he smiles sadly, taking your hand and grasping it. You squeeze back, and try to smile at him.

“You came back,” you cough, and he hushes you.

“My darling girl, I never left. I’ve been right here the en- _tire_  time.”

“Mmm,” you smile, eyes fluttering closed. He takes a deep breath, unable to stop himself from letting a few tears fall.

“I promise, nothing like that will ever happen to you again. Do you understand me?”

“I know. You’ll protect me,” you whisper, and he puts his other hand on top of the one he’s holding, leaning down.

“The only problem is… I cannot always protect you, my sweet. I–” he sighs, “I need you to wait here for me until winter is finished. No buts, let me finish– Django and I will come back for you once the snow melts.”

Your heartbeat increases with worry. “If you leave, I’ll never see you again.”

“That’s not true,” he sits beside you, “You know that’s not true.”

“How can you be sure?” your lower lip trembles. King looks into your eyes, and brings his lips down to caress your knuckles softly. After a moment, he reaches into his pocket.

“I’ll give you this as a promise. You see my dear, I  _have_  to come back now,” he says, slipping a small ring on your finger, “If I don’t, well…” he huffs playfully, “That’s just bad luck.”

“Oh,” you breathe, staring at it. It’s simple, but beautiful.

“I had it made at a jeweller’s in Daughtrey,” he explains softly, leaning in to rest his chin on his fist. “When you weren’t looking, of course.” He winks, then looks down nervously. “I do hope you like it.”

You can’t do anything but nod, eyes filling, and his smile gets wider.

“I love you,” you manage out, your voice breaking, and King strokes your cheek.

“Oh, my sweet (y/n)… I would kiss you, but–” he grimaces, “I-I feel as if that would be a selfish indulgence in your present state.”

You roll your eyes, scoffing and sitting up slightly. “I got shot in the neck, not the lips, silly. Come here.”

He smiles, and reaches over to cup your face and kiss you as gently as you can. You two spend a few minutes like that, kissing slowly and holding each other, until he helps you lay back down. “You rest now,” he urges, “I’ll be over here the whole night, right here for you. Django too. Mrs. Gus will watch for any changes in your condition, and the doctor is close by if there are any. Gut?”

“Yes,” you nod, and he nods too, going back over to the men sitting by the fire.

“So… how’d the little lady take it?” Gus asks cautiously.

“She understands.”

“Good.”

The fire crackles as King looks into it, thinking of you and counting his blessings that you made it. “You take good care of her,” the bounty hunter tells the sheriff. “I’m going to marry that girl come spring.”


	12. Nightmare (King Schultz x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a nightmare, King comforts you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffff!

You startle awake, snuggling deeper under the blankets that had been placed over you. You had just awakened from another nightmare.

Looking up at the dark Mississippi sky, you could see the haze that contributed to your cold sweat… and still see all the images from the bad dream. Feeling scared and alone, you cuddled even deeper into your blankets. You had Django and King with you, but it wasn’t like you had known them forever… 

Still. Django was warming up to you fast, and Dr. Schultz had been nothing but kind to you since you had started your travels with the two bounty hunters– the German was there for you without fail, almost appearing affectionate in his ways. You kept seeing him blush whenever you would move closer to him, and it made your heart swell.

You realize you’re smiling– the older man seemed to have that effect on you. Realizing seeking him out would be the best for you right now, you bite your lip, and look over to where he’s sleeping soundly on a flat patch of ground. You walk over, and kneel down.

“King?” you whisper, chewing your bottom lip. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe he’d be mad that you woke him up. Maybe–

“…(y/n)?” His bleary voice breaks you of your worries, “What is the matter?” You look down, and your lip trembles. He sees that you are close to tears and a little bit frightened, and sits up, rubbing his eyes awake. “Is something wrong, my dear?” You can’t bear how much he cares, and it almost makes you break down.

“Nightmares,” you whisper, and his face softens. He opens his arms. 

“Come here, my love. Come here.” You let a single tear fall in defeat as you wish you could be tougher than you are. “Come rest your head here,” he pats his chest, and you crawl up. He hides one of those blushes as you tilt your face up to look at him. “They’re over now. You are here, and you are awake. Are you not?” You nod, cuddling into him, and his hand comes down to move you even closer. “That’s right. You are  _safe_. And do you know happen to know why?” You look up inquisitively into his encouraging gaze. “Because I will  _never_  let anything happen to you. Remember when I told you that the day you came along with us?" 

"Yes,” you murmur, and he strokes a piece of matted hair out of your eye with his thumb. 

“I intend to keep that promise, liebchen. Nothing will stop me in doing so, I assure you.” You sniffle a little, closing your eyes.

“I wish I could just forget them. I wish I could be harder to… I don’t know, to break, more like you and Django.” King looks down at you in bewilderment. 

“You think Django doesn’t have nightmares?" 

"He does?" 

"Oh, yes. He’s told me in great detail about many of them." 

"I… guess he has the most cause of any of us to have nightmares." 

"He mostly thinks of his wife at night,” King explains softly, “Getting her back. What might be happening to her at each very moment. How he’s not there with her.”

“I’d imagine,” you whisper, reaching up to play with King’s hair. He sighs softly, and runs his fingers down your arm. Your smile starts to come back. “Can you tell me a story? A German one?" 

"You want to hear a German story?” he asks, and you quickly look away, the late night breeze blowing your hair in your face. 

“Sorry. I should let you sleep…" 

"Shh, shh, shh, of course I’ll tell you a story,” he mutters with a playful smirk, “Lay back down here and listen.” You grin, nearly all memory of the nightmare gone from your mind, and he hums, trailing a hand down to rub soothing circles around your lower back. “What story shall I regale you with?" 

"Something romantic?” you ask, “With a little adventure." 

"Well that’s helpful. You just described every German story out there.” You giggle, and he laughs too, holding you. You can feel his breathing, his chest rising and falling under you. His beard tickles you a little, and he looks down. “Very well… you’re a persuasive woman,” he teases, pretending to frown at you. “So. Once, there was a man.”

“Exciting.”

“Hush. He was a medical practitioner, and traveled from town to town in the country he had come to with his brother. He kept to himself mostly, but danger always seemed to find him. One day, he ventured out to visit his brother– and found him, shirt bloody and lying still.” You gasp for effect, and he nods. “This man was very upset– so upset, in fact, that he decided to abandon his business and go into business for himself. He became a bounty hunter." 

"Like you,” you murmur, trailing your hand down to lift his shirt. His breath hitches from the touch, and he nods.

“Like me, Fraulein. He began to get very rich off his bounties. Business was prospering. One day, he heard of a bounty too good to pass up– $10,000 for a trio of brothers in Tennessee. He rode off in search of them under the guise of his medical persona, and found someone along the way. A slave, whom he desperately needed the help of– because you see, this man had never laid eyes on the trio of brothers before, but the slave had, in fact. Now the two traveled and traveled in search, until they came upon a little town. They found a girl there.” You start to smile, recognizing where this is going. 

“Oh? What was her name?" 

"It’s a secret,” he shushes, then pauses, holding a finger up. “But it was a very beautiful name, if you must know.” You grin, and he continues. “This young girl abandoned her way of life to follow these two men on their journey." 

"This girl sounds very daring,” you whisper, and he smiles fondly. 

“Ah, she is, my darling. She is. As time went on and winter drew nearer, the man we have followed from the beginning began to see things in her. Things he believed he was not worthy of." 

"Wait,” you interject, “This man seems very honourable. Why wouldn’t he be worthy of this  _astonishing_  girl?” King smiled sadly.

“You see, he felt as if he would be robbing her of what she could be, keeping her trapped in a life like his. Evidently, he realized he was…” He took a breath in. “In love with her.” Silence befalls you, the wind whistling through the mountains and the crickets around the only noise. 

“…Is that the end?” you ask carefully, voice barely above a whisper.

“For now,” he breathes, swallowing. 

“Oh King,” you bury your face in his chest. 

He looks up at the sky, blinking his daze away. “Not really a German story, but I got creative.” You take one look up at him; his kind blue eyes, his upturned white mustache… and kiss him. He startles a little, but lets it happen, melting into you as he cups your face. When you two pull away, he groans. 

“I’m glad you did that." 

"Really?” You ask, “You’re not mad?" 

"How could I be mad at you?” he asks gently, kissing your nose and then your lips once more. He then nudges you down. “Go to sleep, Fraulein. I’ll see you in the morning, when you wake up in my arms– where no more nightmares can get you.”

You drift off peacefully, dreaming instead of King’s soft lips, wandering hands, and voice softer than a lullaby.  

 


	13. Geheimnisse (Hans Landa x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Landa’s onto the secret that you, your fiance, and your father work undercover for the Allies– and if he finds out, he could blackmail you into anything. (Title means “secret”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to @mysticaltimemachinewench on tumblr for requesting this awesome and creative prompt! 
> 
> Also, I apologize for my poor German translation haha. If anyone wants to beta my German writing in the future, I’d be very grateful!

[This is Gerhard, your fiance’s, faceclaim](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fstatic.wixstatic.com%2Fmedia%2Fc3cb21_4b6011601aeb48deb1760058e2dfb5b5%7Emv2.png%2Fv1%2Ffill%2Fw_441%2Ch_440%2Cal_c%2Cq_90%2Ffile.jpg&t=NGQzNzc1YTU3NDljYzk3NjUyODIyYjQ3NjE5ZTBkMTgyZThmMzM5ZSxveDlEQVJuTw%3D%3D&b=t%3ARjEQbs4yaJlyb9AapoSzZw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fheadoverhiddles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F180536307223%2Fgeheimnisse-hans-landa-x-reader-smut&m=1). 

* * *

* * *

 

You and Gerhard Schreiber had been engaged for four months, and the wedding was already being planned. It was not to say you didn’t love the young man, but it had been an arranged relationship in the first place; or so you referred to it. Gerhard was your father’s colleague’s son, a tall blonde boy about your age, soon to be following in his father’s footsteps. At a dinner party one night, you had been introduced to Mr. Schreiber, a rotund older man with a bushy moustache who insisted you were the most elegant creature he’d ever laid eyes on, and that it would simply be a crime for you  _not_  to marry into his family.

Your father, a foreign diplomat, had taken a firm stance at first, assuring you he would never urge you to marry into a certain family for status, but you understood the situation– you understood that your father was this man’s subordinate, and that if you married into the Schreiber family, it would mean higher social standing for your own family, and most importantly– viability for your father.

You and your father held a secret. Ever since your Italian mother died, your father had found new cause to do something right. Your mother had always fiercely opposed the regime’s beliefs (in private of course, for your safety), so your father, on a diplomatic mission to Britain, had taken you with him, and after speaking to Churchill himself, the two of you had become members of the SOE.

It was a dangerous double life. You were constantly on high alert around any officers, and you had to be worried for your soon to be husband now, who had overheard a conversation between you and your father. He had assured you he would not tell anyone (you suppose because it would likely get him killed as well at this point), and had decided to join the SOE with you. Though it was dangerous, you did enjoy the excitement of pretending to be someone you weren’t. Nobody had been able to see through your lies thus far, and nobody would. Nobody was smart enough.

Gerhard lights a cigarette, taking the needle off the record player. You look up from where you’re styling your hair at the mirror, and take the pin from between your teeth.

“Was ist da los, liebling?” (What’s the matter, darling?) you ask.

“I have… doubts, about tonight,” he responds in tired English, forgetting about his cigarette in a tray.

“Doubts?”

“The place will be swarming with Nazis.”

“I should hope so, it’s a German event.”

“Still. Nazis.”

“Which according to the state, we are. No different than your work day.”

“Yes.” He swallows. “Yes, forgive me, sometimes I don’t have the stomach for what I agreed to do for the executive operation.”

“I know. That is why you divulge the information after I dig it up. We can’t have you caught on your back. Especially if what you say is true, with all these scary  _Nazis_  around.” You stick the rose-adorned pin through the coiffed curl just above your cheekbone, and admire your reflection. You’ve got a long, forest green [dress ](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fnafdress.com%2Fassests%2Fimages%2Fevening-dress-1940-evening-dress-1097807.jpg&t=ZjUxMjJmYTk4NTM5YTAzNmIxZTM4NzUxNTdkNDU4NmM3ODljODlmMSxveDlEQVJuTw%3D%3D&b=t%3ARjEQbs4yaJlyb9AapoSzZw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fheadoverhiddles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F180536307223%2Fgeheimnisse-hans-landa-x-reader-smut&m=1)on, that accentuates your bust and leaves room to show off your neck. Gerhard comes up behind you, feeling a hand up your arm.

“Ich bin fest davon überzeugt, dass ich, wenn ich sie nicht bei mir habe, bereits in einem gefängnis verfaulen würde.” (You know, I have full confidence that if I did not have you with me, I would already be rotting in a prison.)

You quirk a perfected eyebrow. “Gefängnis? Ohne mich wären sie tot.” (Prison? Without me, you would be dead.)

—-

The dinner is an event that heralded newspapers all over Nazi-occupied France to plaster it across the front page– said to be a society gathering, it was a place for higher-up members of the Third Reich to mingle with one another and forget about their hard work days of authorizing systematic murder for the night. It was also the perfect place to listen.

Your car pulls up at the entrance, and your heeled shoes touch the carpet rolled out for the arrival of guests. The Fuhrer himself would not be at the dinner tonight, but other officers would be, and it was your job to keep calm, look pretty, and chat them up.

Gerhard takes your shawl, and gives it to the doorman as you two are announced. Your father had already arrived much earlier, as he has to leave very late tonight for another visit to London tomorrow morning. He comes over to you.

“Ah, (y/n), Gerhard!”

“Papa.”

“Papa.”

“My children, follow me!”

He leads you to a group of uniformed men, and goes around introducing everyone. Yes, there were some in this very room who worked closely with Hitler. You could say it unnerved you, but you never really became unnerved without reason.

“Fraulein (y/n),” a man named Otto smiles, kissing your hand, “Ein vergnügen.” (A pleasure.) He turns to Gerhard, slapping him on the back. “Hat dir dein vater von den guten nachrichten aus Barbarossa erzählt?!” (Mr. Schreiber! Did your father tell you of the good news from Barbarossa?!)

“Ich habe nicht viel gehört,” (I haven’t heard much) your fiancé smiles, “Könnten sie mir bitte sagen, wie wir aus dieser einöde gute nachrichten gewonnen haben?” (Would you gentlemen care to fill me in on how we seem to have garnered good news out of that wasteland?)

“Bah,” another German officer named Jürgen scoffs, “Ich vertraue der vision des Führers, aber die Invasion Russlands ist unnötig. Sie wissen, was wir tun können, und diese roten teufel verdienen unsere zeit und unser blut nicht.” (I trust the Fuhrer’s vision but the invasion of Russia is unnecessary. They know what we can do, and those red devils don’t deserve our time and blood.)  

“Sie müssen daran erinnern, was wir tun können,” (They must need reminding of what we can do) you speak up, taking a sip from a glass of champagne, “Ich würde gerne sehen, ob ihr Schnee die Farbe ihrer Flagge ändern kann.” (I’d like to see if their snow can turn the colour of their flag.)

Otto bursts into hearty fits of laughter. “Ich– Ich genieße dieses mädchen.” (I– I enjoy this girl.) Jürgen stalks closer to you, and clenches his jaw.

“Wenn sie nicht die zukünftige  _Frau_  Schreiber wären, hätte ich sie dafür auf ihren hübschen mund geklopft.” (If you were not the future  _Mrs_. Schreiber, I would have you slapped across your pretty little mouth for that.) Your father puts a protective hand on your shoulder, and your fiancé takes a shot.

“Was ist das problem damit, Jürgen? Sie spricht einfach die wahrheit des Führers,” (What’s the matter with it, Jürgen? She’s simply speaking the Fuhrer’s truth) your father mutters.

“Es scheint, dass sie die einzige ist, die genug bälle hat, um dies zu tun!” (It would appear she’s the only one with enough balls to do so!) Otto laughs, shaking his head and taking his own shot down.

Just then, the man by the door announces a new name.

_“Herr Colonel Hans Landa, ein partner des SS Einsatzgruppen.” (Colonel Hans Landa, an affiliate of the SS Einsatzgruppen.)_

You turn.  _A detective?_

Your heartbeat picks up as you watch the man enter. He’s not as tall as some of his fellow officers, but there’s an air about him that emanates danger– you can tell he is not one to be trifled with.

Beyond that, he’s handsome– handsome, sure of himself, and looks dangerous. A man after your own heart, if you weren’t getting married to poor Gerhard in a month. Expecting Landa to brush right past you to approach the room upstairs, you look away, but are surprised when he stops directly in front of you two.

“Ah. Neue gesichter! Darf ich um einführungen bitten?” (Ah. New faces! May I request introductions?)

“Colonel,” your father shakes his hand, “Das ist meine tochter, Frau (y/n) Schreiber.” (This is my daughter, Mrs. (y/n) Schreiber.)  

“Und was für eine schöne tochter sie ist. Du bist eine Frau?” (And what a lovely daughter she is. You’re a Mrs.?) he implores, taking your hand. You hold his gaze, a silent intensity passing between you. The question is not affronted at all– it’s curious.

"Soon to be,” you smile, and he takes a breath, smiling primly back at you.

“You speak English.”

“All civilized Germans know more than just German,” you smirk.

“Devo essere d'accordo,” (I have to agree) he replies in Italian, and gives your body a quick once-over.

“Cosa fa un detective a una festa come questa?” (What’s a detective doing in a place like this?)

He hides his surprise at your ability to speak with him. “…Godersi una notte libera.” (Enjoying a night off.)

“Sei, colonnello?” (Are you, Colonel?)

His amber eyes narrow for a second, then he turns to your extremely confused looking fiancé, giving a friendly chuckle and shaking his hand. “Forgive us my boy, we were merely playing a little game of cat and mouse in one of the most beautiful languages. You’re lucky– she is sharp, this one!”

“Plus forte que vous ne le savez.” (Sharper than you know (in French).)

He turns back to you, and you notice his smile flicker ever so slightly at the corners of his mouth into something menacing. “Careful, mein Fraulein. Tu me pousses trop loin, tu ne l'aimeras pas quand le chat attrape la souris.” (Careful, my dear. You push me too far, you will not like it when the cat catches the mouse.)

You feel the first real spark of anything other than assurance all night, and look down. Satisfied, Hans looks up to everyone. “Did you all hear my announcement back there? Mein Gott, I hate it when they lump me in with the death squads. I’m a detective! Finding people is my specialty, not killing them.” You snort, and he ignores you this time to instead speak amiably with your father. “So. How was your excursion to England, sir?”

Your father hesitates, but smiles back. “Well, I wish I could bear news as good as Barbarossa, Herr Colonel, but it was less than productive. Churchill is not an easy man to reason with.”

“He’s a fool. A brave but foolhardy man who the British people have decided to elect their hero.” Landa observes your father’s movements closely. “Do you not think so?”

“Of course I agree with you sir.”

“Mm. Tell me, what did he have to say to you?”

Your father– bless him, not the best liar– almost stutters, almost unnerved under Landa’s intensity. “I don’t remember exactly, Herr Colonel, as I am getting older and… my memory is not what it used to be.”

Landa stares at your father for a good ten seconds, then speaks. “A shame. I was hoping you would have a fun story or two for me, seeing as your last visit was not but a week ago. And your next is… tomorrow, is it not?”

You all wait in more tense silence, until Landa scoffs, waving the tension away with his hand. “Ah, perhaps it is for the best. Tonight is not a night to discuss politics! No, tonight is a night of dance, food, drink! And, of course… meeting new people.” He looks at you, and smirks.  "Thanks to your ailing memory, Mr. (y/l/n), I may partake in that this evening.“

Your father exhales slightly, and you hold Landa’s gaze. His eyes drop down, and he inhales as he admires you again. The way he ever so slightly teases his bottom lip as he looks at you though… your head quirks. There’s a side to this intimidating older man not many people see.

Your husband inconspicuously tugs your wrist, and whispers in your ear. "I’m heading home. Long day of travel tomorrow.”

Though it was frowned upon, it was not unheard of for a German lady to be unaccompanied by a man to a party of this stature, so you remained there as Gerhard kissed you on the cheek and said his goodbyes. As he does so, you see Hans turn to one of his accompanying officers and whisper something. You frown.

Your father got to talking to Otto and Jorgen again, so Hans holds out a hand.

“May I?” He sees your suspicious glance, and holds a hand up, smiling. “I simply wish to chat, my dear.” You nod silently, and take his arm. As you walk through the crowd, he takes out a silver cigarette case, and offers one to you as well. After some debate, you accept, and he lights yours before his with his Ronson. “So. Why would you get married to a spineless coward like Gerhard Schreiber?” You gasp, snatching your arm away from Landa. He looks to you, raises his eyebrows, and puts a hand on his chest. “Oh, pardon– have I offended you with the truth?”

Seething, you feel your blood race. “My husband risks his life every day.”

“Doing… what?” He gives a pleasant chuckle. “You’ll have to forgive my cultural ignorance, Fraulein– are they traditionally apt in Britain to hold foreign guests at gunpoint when they arrive, and shake their hand over the barrel of an Enfield?” His smile has since faded, boring holes into you with the gravitas of the question. Closing your mouth, you catch your mistake.  _Please don’t be as observant as I think you are._  “Besides. He is not your husband yet. Or am I wrong about that…?”  

You almost retort to that, but you decide to keep your mouth shut. It’s the best option when fired up, and you’re lucky that’s the part he chose to fixate on, not the fact that you almost just gave away your husband’s secret, and along with it, yours. He gives a self-satisfied smirk, and drags on his cigarette.

“You never answered my question.”

“What?”

“Why are you going to marry him?”

“I don’t love him, I pity him. Anyway, why do you want to know so desperately?” You let your curls fall into your face, and part your lips. Landa adjusts himself in his seat.

“I’m a curious man, in case you hadn’t figured that out Fraulein.”

“I’m curious too,” you suddenly say, “I’m certain I’m the first woman who has ever surprised you. Yes?”

He huffs. “I…” You raise an indignant eyebrow, so he responds tightly. “It is true that I am rarely surprised, I will grant you that.”

“So, Colonel…” you go on, taking his arm again, “It must be true as well that you’ve never met a woman like me.”

His grip on you tightens. “Yes. However the same can be said of me.”

You hope he didn’t hear your soft moan.

—

Later that night, or early in the morning, it takes a while for you to get home by car service. Landa had bid you goodnight earlier than you had left, to go “hunt” some more no doubt. A bastard’s work is never done. This was after one of his officers had come back and whispered something back in his ear. After he had left, you spent your night making the rounds, but nothing particularly revealing had come up that warranted immediate communication with Churchill.

When you do arrive, you find that it is strangely quiet around your home. Usually Gerhard had a record playing if he was waiting on your return, as he did not like to sleep before you came home.

But you hear nothing.

Letting yourself in, you step carefully through your doorway… and feel something crunch under your heels. Turning the lamp on, you gasp, and fall to your knees. Broken glass litters the carpet beneath you, and–

“Oh,“ you whisper, slapping a hand over your mouth as a tear rolls down your cheek. Three bullet holes in your wall just beside the mirror, and a smear of dripping blood all the way down to where your fiancé lies, slumped over, in a puddle of red. On the floor beside him is a gun, which he had obviously gone for during the intrusion. You whirl around, checking behind the door– but you’re alone with Gerhard’s body, and the mess. Standing up shakily, you run a hand through your hair, letting the pins drop on the shards. You brush off your knees, which you hadn’t even realized were bleeding from the glass.

There. On Gerhard’s lap.

You walk over slowly, and grab a letter left. It has spatters on it from where Gerhard had likely bled on it over the last hour, but the wax seal is what you were paying attention to: the mark of the SS.

Opening the letter, you read it.

_Frau (y/n)– apologies, Fraulein (y/n)._

_It takes courage to lie to my face. I respect that courage in you, because you did it quite well, but your beloved and your father… well, they less than passed my little test. Your husband was a terrible liar, as you can see. Your father is en route to London, and I cannot stop him now, nor would I wish to, for your sake._

_I assume you didn’t know what I am known for. The Jew hunter. Do you realize who I hunt, Fraulein? Enemies of the state. That includes your fiancé, your father, and you. It is my job to discover secrets, and I have discovered yours._

_Unless you would like to stain that pretty green dress red, I expect to see you at tomorrow night’s premiere of Stolz Der Nation – I will be your escort for the evening._

_All my love,_

_Col. Hans Landa, SS_

You crumple up the letter, and hold it to your chest as you think of those inquisitive, dangerous brown eyes. This is the perfect opportunity to get back at the Nazis– turn up the heat on Landa, infiltrate their precious premiere, and get all the information you need when he’s on his hands and knees.

—

Upon arriving at the premiere, you are photographed by many people as you enter. Being on Hans Landa’s arm has its benefits– no one bothers you, asks you to dance, or even attempts to flirt or talk with you. They’re all too scared of Landa to try it.

"You look beautiful in that little [dress](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.retropetite.com%2Fmedia%2Fcatalog%2Fproduct%2Fcache%2F3%2Fimage%2F1800x%2F040ec09b1e35df139433887a97daa66f%2Fp%2Fe%2Fpetite-split-dress-min.jpg&t=NzM3OGUyYjk3ODZjYjViNmRlMGMxMTU4ZTNhNzU5ZDVlOGI0YmE2OSxveDlEQVJuTw%3D%3D&b=t%3ARjEQbs4yaJlyb9AapoSzZw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fheadoverhiddles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F180536307223%2Fgeheimnisse-hans-landa-x-reader-smut&m=1),” Landa says to you, “And they all know it.”

“I know.”

“Mm, I see what you did– red, in case you end up shot tonight.” You feel his grip tighten as you try to struggle out of it, and he maintains his calm smile as you two make your way through the crowd. His breath is hot on your ear, and you wish you wouldn’t get so warm from it. The man was despicable. You wanted to kill him. And yet– in that uniform, you found yourself wondering how long it could take to get him out of it.

“Landa!” Joseph Goebbels, the Reich Minister, calls, beaming and waving you two over. Landa practically leads you over, and Joseph’s eyes go to you like a magnet. “Oh…  _oh!_  Who… is this…  _beautiful_  young lady who has stolen my words right from my mouth?!”

“She is my date,” Landa smiles, his hand reaching suspiciously low on your back.

“Breathtaking,” Joseph gasps, “Absolutely astounding.”

You fight the urge to scowl– it sounds like they’re sizing up a car or a house for sale. Hans pulls you slightly behind his back, and clears his throat. “How has your night been so far, my friend?”

“Ah, gut, gut. So langweilig diese ereignisse auch sein können, ich freue mich tatsächlich darauf, da es mein film ist.” (Good, good. Boring as these events can be, I’m actually looking forward to this one, as it is my film.)

“Hm,” Landa nods, “Wir freuen uns sehr, es zu sehen.” (We are looking forward to seeing it.) Though he is talking to Joseph, he can’t seem to keep his eyes from wandering to you. 

“Anche se sono un po ‘più eccitato di vedere qualcos'altro,” (Although I’m a little more excited to see something else) you respond in Italian so that only Landa has a chance of understanding. He chokes a little, turning to stare at you, and you lick your red bottom lip inconspicuously, pouting. Landa does look good tonight– the silver at his temples beneath his styled blonde hair is doing things to you, whether you liked it or not.

Joseph shakes his head, not catching it of course. Landa regains the upper hand, and chuckles. “Ha! She said she’s so eager to see it, she’s just ready to burst!” He grins, patting your cheek. “My charming little girl!”

“Ah, a delight indeed,” Joseph continues to beam, and pats your arm. Landa excuses you both, and takes you past him, only to lean in.

“What do you think you are doing?” His voice is biting.

“Nothing,” you respond innocently. He leans in from behind, even closer, and you are genuinely intrigued to feel he’s hard in his pants. “…I see I have an effect on you.”

He growls, and steps away. “Stop it. At once.”

“Stop what?”

“You force me to–”

“What?” you smirk, “What are you gonna do? Fuck me?” He rolls his eyes, and you tilt your head a little, in curiosity. “…Let me fuck you?” He snaps his head up in incredulity, and his pupils dilate.

_Ooh. That’s a bingo._

“So,” you smile wickedly, circling him, “You like it when girls take charge, hm? When we… pin you down, so you can’t move as we slowly, slowly slide your pants down?”

“(y/n), this is embarrassing, you are embarrassing yourself and me–” he snaps, but you hush him with a scoff.

“Like you weren’t imagining this when you blackmailed me into becoming your  _date,_ Prinz Charmant.”

Hans looks around, makes sure nobody is watching, then drags you toward his make-do office that he had had the owners make up for him. Just as he’s about to open it, Joseph calls again.

“Landa, where are you going?! I thought you could join myself and my Francesca in the box!”

“Thank you. But something must be taken care of first,” Landa grits out pleasantly, and closes the door. Once inside, you’re both breathing heavily, and you look down to the tent in his pants. He looks down to it as well, and you saunter over to him.

_Now’s the time. You can make him surrender to you– tell you anything._

He looks almost panicked– like prey. “(y/n)–”

You silence the famed detective by sealing your lips over his, and he lets out a slutty moan that actually makes you wet. You keep kissing him, parting the slit in your dress to lift your knee and rub his erection through his uniform pants. He pushes you off him, looks at your swollen lips and lustful eyes, and takes you over to the chair, where he sits. You smile a little, and unbuckle his pants, pulling them down to let his cock free.

Since you met the man, he seemed as domineering as they come, with that hawk-like glare and confident posture– and that  _letter_ – but now, he looks even more beautiful like this, absolutely powerless to you.

Lowering down between his legs, you hold the base of his dick as you bring your mouth down over it, licking gently along the tip as you go down, down…

“Ah,” Hans breathes, holding your head, and you continue to suck him off. His hips begin to lift, circling and thrusting into your mouth, but you hold him down by the hips as he lets out another groan.

“Ich brauche…”

“What do you need?” you moan, watching his lips part nervously. “Sag mir was du brauchst, daddy.” (Tell me what you need, daddy.)

“I-Ich muss dich f-fühlen,” (I need to feel you) he gasps, and you begin to undress his lower half, until he’s in his white boxers. You take them down, and climb onto his lap. He’s staring up at you in awe, and you take your stockings off slowly, tying his legs to the chair as slow as you can, to tease. He smirks up at you as you tie him up. “You certainly are taking your time with that.”

You take him by the jaw, and squeeze. “And you’re talking too much. I don’t fuck naughty boys.”

He clicks his tongue. “Point taken.”

You move your dress out of the way as you sink down over his cock.

“Oh,” you breathe, falling forward. His face twists up, and he grips the chair as you fully seat yourself on him, tugging his black tie from its immaculate position tucked into his cold, rough jacket.

“Move,” he says, and it’s not so much a command as it is begging. You start moving, rocking him back and forth as you fuck him, your breasts pressing into his face. “Ah… ahh,” he moans against you, eyebrows lifting, and you’re not sure you’ve seen anything so arousing than this man losing it for you.

“You’re so big,” you whisper, “So ein guter junge für mich… (such a good boy for me). "Du magst es so gefickt zu werden?” (You like getting fucked like this?)

“Yes… yes,” Landa chants, and his hands fly to your hips. You slap them away, and lean down to kiss him again. He moans through the rough kiss, and you tug his hair back as you roll your hips down hard.

“It looks like the mouse caught the cat, Herr Colonel.”

With a loud groan, Landa comes hard, and you keep him inside you, bucking down and riding him as hard as you can until he’s finished. At the last minute, he tugs you down over top of him and kisses you back, sending you over the edge as well.

“Oh… oh, herr Colonel, yes, fuck,  _fuck_ …”

“(y/n)… don’t stop–”

You hold him as his head falls forward into your chest, and cradle him there for moment as you both catch your breath. When he finally tilts his head up, he looks so pretty– stunned, lips pink, cheeks flushed, and blonde hair mussed.

“Ich habe deine geschenke unterschätzt,” (I underestimated your gifts.) “I’ve never finished that hard before, Fraulein.” His intense gaze is now a mix of wonder, confusion, and slight bashfulness.

You stroke along his jaw. “Neither have I,” you confess, giggling into his hair. You get up, leaning against the desk, and he does up his pants again, checking his collar and badges to ensure he’s in tip top shape before re-emerging into the public eye.

As you both enter the premiere again from the little office after getting him presentably dressed, you bite your lip, burying your feelings of guilt.

_Perhaps your letter to Churchill could wait another week… perhaps you could get a few different secrets out of the enigmatic man leading you by the hand._


	14. Such A Tease (King Schultz x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King teases you relentlessly like the smut little shit he is, making you wait until you can’t wait any longer to have him. Tables are turned.

He had been teasing you for a week now, refusing to even so much as touch you.

The touches he would give were agonizingly brief, so brief he would feel compelled to tell you they were an accident. The other day, meeting the plantation owner you were tricking, his hand found its way to your ass, squeezing while the slaver was watching.

“You alright miss?” he had asked.

“Fine,” you had balked, and King have you a winning smile.

“My apologies, my sweet. My hand must have slipped!” he gave that impish little grin, to which you just narrowed your eyes at your shit of a lover.

At the table tonight, you, Django, and King were enjoying a beer and dinner at a local saloon.

You lift the glass to your lips, and see King’s eyes start to wander down. They ultimately come to rest on your breasts, and your cheeks heat up as you watch him stare. The entire meal is spent like this, King’s eyes always returning to ogle you. The share intensity of his gaze, imagining what he could be thinking or picturing about you, arouses you to the point of discomfort. You had already soaked your underclothes, that much was certain– but it appeared King didn’t much care what he was doing to you.

“May I speak with you for a moment, love?” you ask with a smile, and his eyebrows raise as he places a hand on his chest in surprise. “Yes, you,” you grit out, and get up, dropping your napkin on his lap. He pats his mouth with it, and gets up.

“Excuse me, Django. We may be a while.”

Django huffs a laugh. “Y'all want me to wait for you?”

“No no, my boy– by all means eat, before it gets cold.”

King undoes his top button, adjusts himself so his erection isn’t too noticeable while he’s walking, and strides over to where you’re waiting outside.

The back doors flap behind him, and suddenly, he feels you pull him against the wall, holding him there.

“I know what you’re doing,” you growl, already growing wet at the scent of him so close to you.

“My dear, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he feigns with a dismissive scoff, “If this is about the lack of sexual intercourse, well, we’ve been so busy I haven’t even had time to think about such things!” He chuckles, but you purse your lips.

“Like hell. I saw you staring at my breasts like you wanted to eat them.”

“In there? Oh, I was simply admiring the tablecloth,” he says, waving his hand. You clench your jaw.

“Fuck me.”

“Wha–”

“Right now. Right here, I can’t wait any longer.”

“I think we all need to calm down, I’ll apologize properly for my teasing back at the hotel–” You cut him off by placing your hand to his bulge and rubbing between his legs, grasping him and massaging his cock through his pants.

“Enough talking. Start doing.”

He starts to moan.

“(y/n)… (y/n), Fraulein, not… not here,” he grimaces, his hips betraying him by bucking into your touch.

“But I’m horny,” you pout, “And it’s your fault.”

King’s eyes, hooded with lust, roll back as you begin to unzip him, and your warm hand finds his thick, throbbing member, stroking it slowly with the precum beading at his tip.

“Ah…” he whispers, and groans softly into your hair, “I need to… I need to be inside you, my dear, not… not like this…”

“You want me?” you murmur, stroking him again. He gasps, his hands squeezing your ass. His dick throbs.

“I do.”

“Come and get it,” you grin, clucking your tongue and removing your hand from his pants. King flies into a panic, and he chases you with that scrunched up glare.

“(y/n)! You can’t just–!” He lets out a frustrated noise, removing his jacket and sticking it in front of his crotch as he follows you back inside to the table, stroking his mustache angrily with his other hand. “Django, get your hat, we’re leaving.”

Django pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. “I just got my damn potatoes!”

“And?” King snaps.

“And,” Django blinks with attitude, “I wanna eat ‘em.”

“We have to go,” King grits through his teeth, “Now.”

Django scoffs, finally catching on to the doctor’s situation. “I see what y'all are up to. I told you that whole teasing thing was gonna come back to bite you, but fuckin’ hell no, you ain’t gonna listen to the one that ain’t bein’ led by his dick–”

“Django, please,” King hisses, and you wink at him.

“I’ll make you potatoes myself tomorrow. Better potatoes.”

“You’s got yourself a deal,” Django smirks at you, and the three of you hurry back to the local inn you’re staying in for the night.

The minute you get back in to your room, you both realize with horror that somebody’s taken your bed.

“Oh, yeah,” the innkeeper mentions, scratching his head, “I let this poor cow puncher crash in here while you three was gone. Hope y'all don’t mind.”

King puts on a polite smile, doing his best to keep a straight face as you graze his erection with the back of your hand. “N-not a problem. Now eh, would you kindly remove him? Hastily?”

“Well…” the innkeeper shifts awkwardly, “I would, but… he paid a pretty penny for a couple hours of shut-eye. I was thinkin’ you three could come back a little later to stake your claim then?”

King just growls, and takes your hand. Django shrugs, walking into the room, and takes a place on the chair to wait for the cowboy to wake up.

“See what you get when you keep a lady waiting?” you giggle as you two make it outside, “Revenge–”

King silences you by holding you against the back of the inn, covering your mouth with his. You moan into the kiss, grabbing his hair, and rock your hips against his.

“You sure like the backs of buildings better than beds,” you joke, and he huffs, unbuttoning his pants.

“Under these strenuous circumstances, we will make do.”

You tug his hair as he lifts you up, holding you there as he bunches your skirts up. You then help him position, and clench hard as he finally thrusts into your wet heat. Both of you let out a sigh of relief at the feel of one another, but your work’s not done yet. He’s painfully hard inside of you, and you could cry you’re so aroused. Heat burning in your stomach, you grind down to take him deeper, and he braces himself against the wall as he starts to fuck you hard.

“Ugh… unf… oh, K… King…” you groan, breasts bouncing with every thrust. His breath is hot on your neck, and he presses a soft kiss there.

“You… are astonishing,” he whispers, “You’re perfect, scheisse… oh, bitte, bitte Fraulein, you feel so good for me…”

“King, take me, oh god–” you groan, and he makes a noise at your slutty display, reaching up to massage your breasts. You feel your orgasm approach as he continues to touch you, and his hand quickly comes down to rub your clit.

“Fuck,” you curse, “I’m so… I’m so wet for you, King, please, I need your cock…”

“You have me, (y/n),” he manages out, eyebrows moving together in pursuit of his sweet climax, “I’m here, you have all of me, always.”

“Ah,” you moan, and come on his cock, clutching his shoulders. King sighs, feeling your pussy squeeze him, and with a stuttered thrust, he comes as well, spilling inside you. You both rock together, riding out your orgasms, and when you’re both finished and satisfied, you hop down, helping King do up his buttons and tuck himself back up.

“Naughty old man,” you giggle breathlessly, slapping his shoulder lightly. He chuckles into your hair, kissing the top of your head.

“I don’t know why you were so anxious to jump my bones, my dear,” King mutters playfully, “You know I always follow through with my teasing.”

“Hey! What’re you doin’ at the back of that there inn?!” a voice shouts, and you both turn. King runs a hand through his hair, and squints.

“Aha. You wouldn’t happen to be… Bad Chuck Wilson by any chance, would you?”

The figure swallows. “That’s me… well who wants to know?”

King digs around in his pocket produces a handbill with Chuck’s face on it, and hums happily.

“Mhmm. This bad day turned into quite the fortuitous night,” he smiles, kissing you once more and drawing his pistol.

 


	15. Sweet Talking Gunslingers (King Schultz/Doc Holliday x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At a saloon in Tombstone one night, two very attractive, very charming men vie for you affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Features both Doc Holliday from Tombstone (1993) and King!!

You lift the small glass to your lips, taking a sip. The sweet tea and bourbon goes down smooth. This isn’t a bad little place, for a not-so-bad little town like Tombstone.

You had arrived here about four days ago, hoping to get a job somewhere that  _wasn’t_  where you were from. You had grown up in a sleepy southern town, and this free soil, opium-ridden silver mine was exactly the place you wanted to be. Since arriving, you had gotten set up in a small cottage with the money you brought from home, and had been working non-stop to try and find employment. Tonight was your night off from hard work; it was time to have fun.

You take another sip of your drink, and set the empty glass down. To your right, a man with impeccable facial hair sits, stroking his silver beard thoughtfully. He’s dressed head to toe in grey, and his hair has some blonde left in it. He must be in his fifties, but he’s attractive, no doubt.

King Schultz had made it to Tombstone that morning, after parting ways with Django and Hildi. They were headed North, and King intended to continue his bounty hunting business here in the West, where outlaws and cowboys would make him a fortune. He had to be relatively careful, though– after getting shot by Candie’s man Butch half a year ago, he was lucky to be alive.

He gets up, making his way over, but just as he was going to introduce himself to you, another man who you hadn’t noticed approaching from the left struck up a conversation. King looked over to see a sickly, albeit confident looking man, younger, with pale skin and brown eyes. He had a small moustache and was nursing a cup of some hard liquor.

Upon realizing they had both started to talk to you at the same time, the younger man smirks a little. “My apologies. You first.”

“Oh no no no, my good man, you started before I did,” King nods to him politely.

“I insist,” the other man opens his arms.

“The last time somebody insisted something my way, it didn’t end well for me, so please, I invite you to speak first,” King returns.

“Is one of you gonna make a move, or do I have to do all the work?” you cut in with a playful smile, and the two men seem to remember their purpose, eyes falling to the pretty woman between them.

“Well,” the man to your left smiles at King, “It appears we are at a quandary, sir.”

“It would certainly seem so,” King nods, pursing his lips.

“What d'you think, darlin’?” the man to your left teases, “You pick who goes first.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” you tease back, “I might choose wrong.”

The man huffs a laugh. “You’re a pistol.” He looks up. “Why don’t you, uh… do the honors, friend. I’ll use the extra minute and a half to make myself presentable.” He brushes his loose hair back with a wink.

“Very well then,” King smiles at you with an expression that could melt you any day, “I am Doctor King Schultz, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. And who might you be?”

“(y/n) (y/l/n),” you smile at the charming older man, “When did you get into town?”

“I just got here this morning.”

“What kind of accent is that?” you ask, playing with one of his buttons.

“German,” he says, leaning against the bar, “I’m from Dusseldorf, Fraulein.”

“German,” you grin, “What are you doing all the way out here?”

“I’m a bounty hunter,” he says softly, and your interest is immediately peaked. “I’m here under the guise of being a dentist, but I’m here for a man by the name of Johnny Ringo.”

The man to your left snorts. “Ain’t that a daisy.”

“Pardon me, sir?” King frowns, “You… know this man?”

“I know him,” the man gives a toothy grin.

“And do you have a problem with me killing him and transporting his corpse back for cash?”

The man grits his teeth, taking a shot. “The only problem I have with it is I couldn’t do it first… for free.” He gestures. “But please– snatch your meal ticket before somebody else does. Johnny Ringo has a reputation for antagonizing armed compatriots of mine in this town, and his  _expiry date_  may very well be near.”

“I hope you can take a night off,” you interject, and King smirks.

“That’s why I am here, Fraulein.”

“Before you two get too cozy, allow me to make my introductions,” the younger man clears his throat, “I am John Holliday, but you can call me Doc, darlin’.”

“Doc Holliday?” King raises his eyebrows, “I suppose we are fellow dentists, then. Or were.”

“I recall hearing something about a Schultz and a black fellow whose name escapes me crusading through my old hometown,” Doc nodded, and King waited tersely for a follow up.

“…I am not going to apologize for myself and Django saving hundreds of slaves, Mr. Holliday.”

Doc lifts his glass in tribute. “Nor do I intend to make you, sir.” King nods, and shakes his head.

“A far cry from my old profession, this is.”

“Dentistry has its merits,” Doc grins, taking another shot, “Gun slinging does too.”

“I’ll drink to that,” King pats the bar. “Bartender!” He turns to you. “What would you like, my dear?”

“Another sweet tea would be lovely, doctor,” you smile, enjoying watching the two discuss their lives.

“Goodness, we are being extremely rude,” King straightens up, “My dear, would you like a seat?”

“I’m fine at the bar,” you reply, “Faster drinks that way.”

“Hear, hear,” Doc wobbles a little.

“Besides, you two are fascinating,” you say, and King looks down.

“Yes, well… I didn’t come here to talk about me. I came here to forget all that for the night. May I ask where you’re from?”

“Virginia,” you say.

“Virginia,” King repeats incredulously, “You have ridden an extremely long way, my dear, whatever did you come here for?”

You shrug. “Work.” Another smirk develops as you look King up and down. “Exciting men.”

“Hate to disappoint darlin’,” Doc cuts in, “but the only exciting part of me is my nightly performance of coughing blood into my liquor, which I appear to be glaringly overdue for.”

“He’s selling himself short, he’s the fastest draw in town,” the barkeep adds, walking by, and Doc knocks on the bar.

“I appreciate that, Frank, I shall remember your payment for that tomorrow.”

You laugh. “Well. It would appear I attract a similar type of man.”

“What’s that?” King asks.

“Sweet talking gunslingers.” You clink your glasses with the two men, and Doc turns to you.

“Since we’re all friends here, I suggest we get a table.” You finally give in, and follow the two men back to a corner table with a bottle of bourbon. Pouring another round, you settle in. “So. Virginia, hm?” Doc asks, striking a match to his cigarette. “I’m a Georgia boy myself.”

“We’re practically neighbours,” you smile, snuggling closer to him.

“Tell that to the Carolinas,” Doc teases, eyes flickering down to your lips, “They can get awful jealous…” You two lean in. King puts his hand over yours, and squeezes.

“Pardon me, but I couldn’t help but realize your corset isn’t fully tied in the back, my sweet (y/n). Would you like my assistance?”

You grin. “If you would be so kind.”

King reaches to your back, and brushes your hair aside, carefully lacing you up properly with his fingers brushing your skin. You gasp a little, and his hands fall down to your skirts. Just as you’re sure he’s going to touch you right where you need him, he takes his hands away.

“There. All done.”

“Much obliged,” you say, a little lightheaded as King runs his hand up your back, and Doc suddenly turns your head back to his.

“Cigarette?”

“I think I’ll share yours,” you give a wicked smile, and take it out of his mouth, putting it between your lips. King watches you two with a quiet intensity, how you’re arching your back and practically climbing into Doc’s lap. He thinks about how much he wants you… He doesn’t lose well.

“How’s about you come and take a seat right here,” Doc smiles hazily, patting his lap. You can already see his bulge from all your touching. Then–

“Excuse me. I will be right back,” King says, getting up. He then finishes his drink, and goes over to speak to a few others around the saloon.

“While the good Dr. Schultz is busy, darlin’,” Doc whispers in your ear, breath sending shivers through you, “I suggest we put our time to good use.” He then tilts your head up, and kisses you. Within seconds, your tongues meet in the middle, and you’re climbing into his lap, grinding and making out.

Over by the poker table, a man with a bushy brown mustache by the name of Wyatt Earp chuckles. “Look at ol’ Doc over there. Never a dull night with him.”

“He sure knows how to pick ‘em,” Morgan comments, squinting at you. Virgil just shakes his head.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” a voice with an accent says, and they all turn. “I am Dr. King Schultz. I was hoping you could help me with something.”

The Earps all introduce themselves, then Virgil nods. “What can we do you for?”

“I am looking for a man who goes by Ringo.”

The poker table gets quiet, and Wyatt takes a careful look around. “Why do you wanna know, friend?”

“I am looking to collect his bounty,” King replies with a casual smile, and Morgan laughs.

“Tonight?!”

“Tonight would be an opportune time, yeah,” King nods.

Wyatt blinks. “Well, uh… only one man I know who can take down Ringo in a gunfight.”

“And who would that be?” King asks.

“He’s a little preoccupied at the moment,” Wyatt responds with a snicker, and all four men turn to see Doc with his hand up your skirt.

“The great Doc Holliday,” King nods, stirring a little more at the sight of you getting touched like that by Doc. The last time he felt something like this for two people was Django and Hildi, and that had led to a magnificent night for him. “We’ve met. I assure you gentlemen, I may not be as fast as he is. But I most certainly intend to collect the 10,000 dollar bounty on Ringo’s head.”

“It’s about that woman, ain’t it?” Virgil smiles.

“Ah. It would seem I am not as subtle as I believed,” King blushes slightly.

Virgil laughs. “Now friend, if you can put the nails in Ringo’s coffin, you’ll have her in the palm of your hand, make no mistake.”

King turns, and sees a man standing right behind him.

“Keep hearin’ my name, old timer. I guess I’m a popular topic of conversation on this side of the room.”

King tilts his chin up. “Hm. Johnny Ringo, I presume.”

“Who wants to know?” Johnny replies slowly.

“I do. I’m Doctor King Schultz.”

“Doctor, huh?” Johnny takes out his gun, and the whole saloon goes silent. You look away from Doc, who’s stroking your thigh, and get off of him curiously, excitement filling you. King’s taking on Ringo, and the way he’s standing up to him is turning you on beyond belief. Ringo takes a step into King’s personal space.  _“We got too many damn mouthy doctors in this town.”_

King doesn’t back down. “I do not intend on leaving tonight, if that is what you’re suggesting. I have unfinished business.”

“You mean that whore the lunger’s got his hands all over?” Ringo sneered, “Maybe I’ll take her for a ride myself once I put a bullet or two through you. Lunger’ll be too busy hacking his guts out to stop me from fuckin’ her good.”

You glare at Ringo, wishing you had a gun of your own to take care of him with. Doc grips your arm, holding you back from the scene.

“Scheiß drauf. Dieser idiot stirbt heute nacht,” King mutters to himself. (Fuck it. This idiot dies tonight.)

“Du zuerst, alter timer,” (you first, old timer) Ringo drawls, and King’s eyes widen a little at Ringo’s ability to speak German before he clenches his jaw. He shakes his sleeve, and a bang goes off. Through the smoke, everyone sees Ringo stumble back, clutching his chest as blood pours out, and King blinks a couple times, smiling down at him and running a hand through his waves of hair.

“I am hardly an "old timer”, dead man.“

Doc smiles in surprised admiration, and the saloon erupts into anarchy, cowboys fighting lawmen, but before the Marshall can intervene, King saunters back over toward your table nonchalantly, putting his gun away. He then strides right up to you, places a hand behind your head, and brings you in for a kiss. You moan softly against his lips as he holds you closer, and your hands go to his back, running down to hook into his belt.

"Impressively  _executed_. I applaud you, sir,” Doc chuckles as you two part, “You know just how to tug on a woman’s heartstrings.” He winks at you. “And get her wet as the Mississippi river, I’m sure.”

You gasp, and take King’s hand, looking back at Doc. “Please, both of you… this is too much fun.”

“Is that a problem, Fraulein?” King smiles, moving his hands down to your hips.

“It’s just what I came looking for,” you murmur.

You look between the two, licking your lips, and Doc puts on his hat, taking your other arm as you’re escorted out through the bar fight by the two handsome men.

“My bed’s the biggest, my fellow sinners. Follow me, darlings.”


	16. Hans Landa Being Your Boyfriend Would Include

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Landa preference!

  * The usual helping of possessiveness. Nobody touches Landa’s girl.



 

  * Hans is super kinky, so he likes to take you in places where you two could totally get caught– restaurants, movie theatres, his office of course.



 

  * I mean people totally know what you two are up to cause the little shit is not as stealthy as he thinks, but nobody says anything for fear of death threats



 

  * At parties, Hans always loves having you on his arm. He loves to show you off, brag about how a beautiful young woman like you chose him. HIM DAMMIT, HAHA ZOLLER TAKE THAT



 

  * Hans will randomly spoil you with gifts, like diamond necklaces, new dresses, s t r u d e l, even lingerie that he insists you wear under a party dress, just so he can imagine ripping it off of you later.



 

  * You give him advice on his work. While he’s not the biggest fan of you interfering with that, he always secretly uses your suggestions, thanking you for them later.



 

  * He loves it when you’re out with him, and you whisper dirty things in his ear. It excites him to no end.



 

  * He will sometimes come home from a failed or stressful work day, and take out his frustration with super hot, rough sex. Fuck yes.



 

  * He let you dominate him once like the sub that he is. It was mind blowing for him, so he’ll sometimes take a break from fucking you so hard you can’t breathe to let you… well, do the same to him.



 

  * Being the girlfriend of Hans Landa has its perks. You can get anything and anywhere for basically free around France.



 

  * You’re his darling, his world, his everything. He loves you with his heart, and you make him a better person.




	17. Mood Swings (August Rosenbluth x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August isn’t happy another man flirted with you. When August isn’t happy, things get fun.

August has been in a mood since last week. He’s been moping around, snapping at you, snapping at the workers. You know exactly why he’s like this, too, and you won’t stand for it.

Last week, the custodian had been hitting on you. The man who cleaned up all the animal droppings had said something a little “out of line” (he had only complimented your earrings, which August had bought for you anyway) and August was being sour about it. You’re about to change that.

You strut up to the tent, dressed in August’s favourite outfit on you, with your hair back and curled. He said it makes you look like the sexiest pin-up model he’d ever seen, and you’re about to use that to your advantage. You toss open the flap.

“Care to explain why you’ve been in such a foul mood this past week?” you ask, folding your arms. August looks up from where he’s playing cards with the other men, puffing casually on his cigar.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No, it’s really not.”

One of the guys starts to get up. “We’ll just, uh… finish the game later, huh?”

“No, that’s fine.” Something flashes in August’s eyes. “My dear (y/n) was just leaving.”

“Sorry boys, but I’m not going anywhere. It’s time to go,” you say, and August’s jaw clenches as everyone starts to get up, eager to flee the tension.

August gets up. “This couldn’t have waited?”

“I’m your girlfriend, if I need to talk to you I will,” you snap right back, and instead of asserting himself even further, he just gives up, clenching his jaw. “Just because some janitor paid me a compliment– a very nice man, by the way, who didn’t deserve to be sacked because of your fragile masculinity–”

“You think I’m fragile?” he cuts in, offended.

“Right now? Yeah!” He grumbles, so you go on softly. “August. Baby. It will always be you.” You swing your hips as you saunter up to him, and tug on his suspenders. “You’ve got to be pretty disillusioned to not see I’m deeply… unspeakably… immeasurably…” you whisper, draping your arms over his shoulders, “In love with you.”

August looks down at your lips, and brings a thumb over your bottom lip.

“Truly?” he murmurs, taking your hands. “I just care about you so much. It’s a blessing and a curse to have such a beautiful girlfriend,” he sighs, “I’m constantly enraptured by you, but… paranoia indeed comes easily.”

“I only have eyes for you,” you whisper.

“And… are you certain of that?” August grips your wrist, and pulls you to him. You gasp– his erection is evident. He always seems to get aroused whenever you two have a falling out… it got his blood going, and for some reason, that turned you on too. Maybe it was the wild look he got in his hazel eyes.

“August–”

“Are you certain you haven’t fucked him? Hm?” He slides a hand down, and reaches into your minishorts, starting to rub you off slowly. He pulls your shorts down to your knees, and you kick them off as he continues to use his fingers. “–Haven’t let him use that little pussy of mine?”

You smile a little, seeing how fired up he is. You sit down on the edge of the table, crossing your legs. You reach back, and take his expensive cigar out of the tray, suck on it, and let the smoke curl in your mouth. He groans, and you lick your red lips, squeezing your bust together and letting your legs fall open for him. “Never, baby.”

He watches closely, as you put the cigar down and reach between your legs, slowly rubbing yourself through your panties. You bite your lip, whispering his name, and after a minute, he can’t take it.

“Let me show you just how fragile I can be, you little slut,” he growls, and pushes you down over the poker table, scattering the chips and the cards. You grin as he rips your panties, and unbuckles his belt before kicking your legs open. Moaning, you grasp the wooden table as August drags a finger down your stomach, before pressing a single kiss to your hip bone, worshipping your body. You smile slightly, knowing this to be his little reassurance that you can always still ask him to stop. But that’s not what you want– you want him to absolutely wreck you right now, get rid of all that pent up frustration. When you two fight, it always results in the hottest sex.

He rolls up his sleeves to his elbows to reveal the flexing forearms that always drove you up the walls, and, grabbing you by the thighs, he pushes into you rough. You welcome him, wet from the touching and how close he was holding you. He leans down, hair falling into his face as he desperately clutches onto your leg and thrusts again, kissing you deep and passionately.

“I must have you. I need you, I need you–” he mumbles, eyes roaming your body. Whenever he gets this worked up, he acts like a kid in a candy store– eyes lit up, hands ready, not knowing just what to touch first. You groan.

“I need your big cock.”

“Ohhh, fuck… my girl is so good for me, that cunt is so fucking tight for daddy.” He keeps pushing into you fast.

“August… August… No one can fuck me like you can, daddy!”

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours, I could never come as hard as I do for you for anyone else!”

“Show me,” he hisses, “Come for me, my dove.”

You scream as you come around his cock, surely loud enough for the entire circus to hear, but they’re used to the evenings surmounting to this when August gets in his moods. Seconds after, August smacks your ass, the table shaking violently with the fucking. Your ass is pushed back a little more with each thrust, and by now, there’s poker chips all over the floor. August doesn’t care. He seems to enjoy the anarchy.

“Fuck me like you’ll never fuck me again,” you whisper against his lips, and the auburn ringleader looks into your eyes.

“Ohh, my darling girl… will I?”

“If you play your cards right,” you smirk, and he grunts as he comes, letting out a gasp so beautiful it makes you ache. He slumps over you for a second, then when he finally pulls out, you turn around, laying underneath him on the table. You reach your hands up to play with his sexy auburn hair, and sigh.

“Maybe I should flirt with more men, if this is the kind of sex I get for it,” you tease, letting your legs fall open again so he can get a good view. He looks down, obviously affected by it, and kisses downward, placing small, open mouthed caresses in and around where he had just destroyed you. He smiles primly, smile lines evident.

“If you do my dear, there will be many accidental elephant tramplings,” August informs you, glancing down once more to admire your body, and you giggle.

“Have I told you that I love you?”

“Just enough to bolster my ego,” he smirks, “Oh– I love you too.” As you get up though, August pauses his meticulous routine of doing up each button of his shirt. Locks of his hair have fallen into his face, and with his lips swollen like that, he looks wrecked, but he’s got that authoritative look again. It’s a look that tells you he means what he says.

“Don’t wash up. I want to know that I’m inside you all day.”

You blush, grinning as you hop down. “Yes, daddy.”


	18. Assist Me [Part I] (King Schultz x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and King had been tiptoeing around each other for months after you began working for the man in the small town he arrived in with Django. A touch here, a look there, but nothing seemed to ever come of the small advances…

You had started working for King a little under a year ago. He’s a nice gentleman, having arrived from Germany, then Tennessee he had said, where he practiced dentistry before. Here in Daughtry, he had been interested in continuing his practice.

He had arrived with another man named Django Freeman, a former slave from around these parts. The man you work for is mysterious, never really speaking much about his past, but you suppose he’s got a reason for that. Sometimes he shows up for work a little late and dirtied, and you get curious… but it’s not your job to question him.

 —

“Morning, doctor,” you say, setting a bottle of numbing alcohol on a high shelf.

“(y/n),” King greets, the bell tinkling above the door as he comes in and takes off his hat, “And how are you today, Fraulein?”

“Fine, thank you,” you accept his offered hand as you step down, and he smiles at you, tucking his silver blonde hair behind his ears. He’s captivated for a moment, unable to look away, then catches himself. 

“Well. Long work day ahead of us is it?”

You look down at your little journal you keep on the wooden desk by your quill, smirking slightly at how red his ears just got.

“Johnny Baskers is coming in this morning for a toothache. Burt Castie got two teeth knocked out in a bar fight last night and needs a pull on a third one. It’s loose.”

“Wonderful,” he rubs his hands together, sarcasm evident. “Have you ever thought about what the elimination of stupidity would do for people’s health?”

You smirk as you gather some more bottles. “All the time, doc.”

He watches you walk away as you go, and bites his lip. He’s had a thing for you for a while, but you must never know. It’s inappropriate. You’re half his age, maybe even younger, and would be more suited to one of the town’s eligible bachelors who would offer you a life of more than skipping towns and bounty hunting.

He steals another glance your way. You’re smart, but you still haven’t figured out his double life here with young Django– not as far as he knew, at least. Nobody had, which was a relief, since if anyone found out, it would be time to pack up and leave for the next southern town. Emancipation sympathizers weren’t welcome in these parts, and that was putting it lightly. 

As for eligible bachelors, however… you constantly expressed your distaste with all the juvenile men around. You talked of settling down with a more seasoned man who knew how to handle a woman. _Perhaps…_

King forces the thought away, and focuses on cleaning his pliers. He could always take care of himself if it got to be too much. 

 —

The appointments that day didn’t make things any easier for King. You keep bending over, stretching, reaching, and it’s getting him more than a tad bit flustered. 

“–Was just swingin’ at me like a mad buffalo!” Burt howled in the dentist chair. You raise an eyebrow, pouring out some whiskey for him to down. 

“Have you ever seen a buffalo, Castie?”

“Well… no, but– doesn’t matter! He was a mad buffalo, and I got my teeth knocked in, damn it all to hell!”

“Well,” King smiles, coming over, “You will be out one more problem once I pull this one for you.”

“You’sa gonna yank my other tooth too?!” he blurts. King stares at him in deadpan. 

“As your health professional and amiable acquaintance, I sincerely do not recommend you walking around for the rest of your natural born life with your second front canine hanging by a string of flesh.” Burt stares, stunned, and King gives another one of those impish smiles. “May I proceed?”

He just nods, and you stifle a laugh. 

As King is pulling it, Burt kicks and screams, and knocks the bottle of whiskey off the table. You bend over to retrieve it, hoping for your sake King is watching you, and for Burt’s sake, he’s not. 

The former is true.

“(y/n),” he breathes, watching your skirts ride up. You don’t hear him, and he suddenly turns back to the bloody mouth he’s working on. 

“There,” he says, “Good as new.” The man gives a pained grin, a huge gap in the top middle. You nod. 

“You look great.” 

“I do?”

“Magnificent,” King confirms, “Eh, good day.” 

—

By the end of the day full of you bending over, accidentally exposing your breasts to him without noticing, and working incredibly close to you, the bounty hunter is hot under the collar. 

The sun goes down outside, and you watch the good Christian townspeople head home, and the ne’erdowells start to accumulate around the saloons. Most of them headed over to the place to be on the corner, which was run by a sleazy, racist bald man named Hetter. King didn’t like Hetter much, as you could tell whenever he ‘forgot’ to numb his gums a little. You don’t blame him– you’re sure Django, King’s younger friend, hadn’t received the warmest of welcomes from the man. 

“Ah. What a day,” King smiles, resting against the wooden counter top. He tries not to look at you, because he’s been semi-hard all day and he really doesn’t need you noticing. 

“I’m going to stay for a bit,” you tell him, “If that’s alright. Burt made a damn mess of things, I’ve gotta clean up.” 

King hesitates. He usually tells Django to meet him here after his work to discuss plans of which plantation they would hit early the next morning.

“Do not worry about it, mein Fraulein, I will take care of it tomorrow.”

“It’s no trouble, really!”

King concedes, realizing he can’t get out of this situation any other way. “Of course. Take all the time you need.” He tries to shut his mouth. He almost succeeds, but– “I’ll also be staying a little late.”

“Good,” you wink, “You can help me put the tools away, doc.”

You start to do so, cringing at the bloody tooth left behind by Castie. King comes up behind you, passing you a couple of dental instruments. You look so good, and he’s flushed, he can’t stop staring at you, god– what is the matter? King usually had perfect control over things like this. It’s like you had a spell on him.

“Something the matter?” you ask. He looks a little dizzy. 

“(y/n),” he murmurs, and you look down at how flustered he looks. You bite your lip, getting down, and raise your eyebrows.

“Something wrong?”

One piece of errant hair has fallen into your face, and your lips are slightly parted. King can’t dispel the thought of dirtying them up, and his fists clench at his sides. He tries to think of something to say. He can only kiss you.

“Mmm,” you let out a startled moan, and he draws back, mustache twitching. 

“I apologize. I don’t know what came over–”

In the span of 3 seconds, you’ve cleared the table of bottles with a crash, and you urge him to lay you down on top of it, pinning you. You let out a needy moan, and King reaches up, hooking his fingers in your underclothes carefully. 

“Is this what you want, darling girl?” he rasps, and you nod feverishly. 

“I’ve wanted you since the day you rode into town.” You lean up to his ear, breath hot against his face. “I wanted to ride you like you were riding Fritz.”

He swears softly, and unbuckles himself. He holds your head up as he slides in, moaning softly at the feeling of you around him.

“I’ve been wet all day for you, doc,” you groan, “Fuck, daddy… need you.”

The name shocks him. “(y/n)…”

“It means something else,” you assure, grabbing onto his arms and laughing, “Please. Daddy.”

Hearing the unorthodox name again ignites something inside of King, and he goes a little bit harder, making you tilt your head back and cry out for him even louder. The bounty hunter doesn’t care one bit at the moment if the entire town of Daughtry could hear (if they took a minute to stop drinking and listen)… he’d been wanting this since the day you slipped your hand into his and introduced yourself. 

“Please, please, please,” you continue to chant, until King groans, burying his face in your hair as you come and clench hard around his cock.

“Oh, my dear, my dear,” he whispers, “I-I’m afraid I’m close.” 

You nod, and grind down against him. He pulls out just in time, coming into his fist. You looks down at him on the table through a mess of hair and swollen lips, and he sinks to his knees, parting your legs around him. He delves between them, and one, two, three licks and a long sucking motion is all it takes for you to finish. 

You two look at each other for a good long time, until King averts his eyes, putting his spectacles on. 

"You had better hurry home, (y/n).”

Your face falls a little, but you nod, getting off the table and gathering your things. Perhaps you’re just a means to an end, as usual. Maybe he didn’t mean to do that– men have urges, same as women, maybe you were just… there.

You gather your skirts, and pulls them down, grabbing your things and heading out. As you open the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder. 

“Wait,” King says, “I forgot something.” You turn, and he kisses you softly. His hands smooth out down your shoulders, moving in to curl a lock of your hair. When he pulls away, he lingers on your lips, caring not about the busybody townspeople staring at you two and whispering.

"I’ve always wanted to do that,” he admits with a small smile, and you grin, wrapping your arms around his neck and jumping in for another kiss.

“Am I interruptin’ something?” Django asks, elbows on his knees. He’s sitting on the bench in front of the shop, and King’s eyes widen. 

“Django, my boy–! You didn’t… we– you didn’t, you couldn’t, eh… hear… could you?”

“I was tryin’ not to!” Django grins, “But y’all gotta work on the volume. Sounded like you’s running a brothel in there.” 

You giggle into King’s shoulder as the man huffs and blushes, fixing his waistcoat. 


	19. Assist Me [Part II] (King Schultz x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After what happened at the office, you follow King and Django, determined to discover the secret you know they’re keeping.

Dust kicks up as you head home, down the main street of the little Texas town you live in. The times are changing, but it seems Daughtry isn’t. You wish you could move to a more enlightened area… but there’s one person keeping you here.

Turning and glancing at him over your shoulder as he walks off with Django, you think of what you two had just done in the dental office. You smile a little. You’d been wanting to forever, and it had been better than you had even imagined.

But something about King still intrigues you– something you just have to discover if things are heading the way they are with you two.

You turn heel, and walk briskly and quietly after the two men toward their mysterious destination. Slinking behind the pine church, you watch them unlatch their horses, and they ride off. You look around, find your own, and head after them… far enough back that they won’t think anything of a lone rider behind them.

You watch them ride, and soon begin to wonder just what they’re doing this far out of town.

You come up on a plantation, and frown. Are they conducting business deals?  _Did you just fuck a slaver??_

You hear King’s voice drift.

“Good evening, Mr. Crabtree! I am Dr. King Schultz, local distinguished dentist. I wish to parlay with you." 

The plantation owner standing on his veranda looks less than pleased. "It would just tickle me pink to extend southern hospitality to you, Doctor. But seeing how late in the evening it is and the state of your present company, I cannot.”

King gives Django a sideways glance, and raises an eyebrow back. “I apologize for the late hour, sir. Furthermore, this is my valet.”

 _His valet? Y_ ou frown once more, hiding behind a huge tree. You pray no one else on the property can see you.

“My valet is always in my presence, sir, that is WHY he is my valet,” King smiles simply, and the guy huffs, seeming to accept this reluctantly. King goes on. “I have rode all this way from town to communicate that would like to make a purchase from you.”

You can’t help yourself– you burst from your spot, stomping over to him. “You absolute  _devil_.”

Both Django and Schultz turn quickly, and King’s eyes widen. “(y/n)! Y-you–”

Quickly, you collect your wits as all eyes are on you. “You… had the nerve to leave me behind on a business trip, sugar?!” you play along, attaching yourself to his arm. You squeeze him a little too tight, and he does a double take. While he’s busy stuttering, Django speaks up.

“Yeah. You… really shouldn'ta left your girl at home, Schultz. Sir.”

King snaps out of it, and turns back to the confused plantation owner, improvising smoothly as he does so well. “Ah. My lovely southern belle– this is (y/n). She typically accompanies me, but I did not want to keep her from her work at home. Anyways–”

“Well well well,” the owner smirks your way, “Pretty little thing, ain’t she?” King glares up, then at you.

“Excuse me, Mr. Crabtree, I’m afraid I need just a moment with my w–” 

“Just get on with the deal,” you say, “I need to have words with my husband as well, but now is not the time." 

As you’re being lead around the plantation, Django leans back with you. "Why’s you here?”

“I followed you,” you hiss back.

 _“Why?_!” King asks.

“You’re a slave owner?!” you retort, “You buy people when your work day is over?! You were INSIDE me!”

“Damn,” Django mutters.

“Django please,” King sighs, “(y/n), I can explain.”

Just then, Django whips out his gun, and nudges the dentist. “There. That’s him.”

“Positive?”

“Positive,” Django confirms.

King takes out his gun as well, and they both fire on a surveyor in the fields. The man on horseback topples off the horse in a shower of red. 

“What the…” you breathe, feeling a little lightheaded, and King takes your wrist.

“Later, my dear, explanations later. Post haste!" 

You three run from angry white men with pitchforks, and get on your horses. You ride for Daughtry as fast as you can, which at this point is about an hour away, but your horses are scared from the shot and they’re riding fast.

Once you get back near the dentist office, you dismount, backing up against the shopfront. The shadows of the roof and the distraction of the drunk townspeople stumbling across the street cover for you three.

You’re still dizzy from what you saw. How is it that a man that sweet could have a double life like this?! And he had done  _such_ a good job of hiding it for the past year. “You’re killers.” 

"Bounty hunters,” King corrects. Django tucks his gun back in his holster, and gets back on his horse. “Where are you going?” King hisses.

“This is between y'all,” he says, and nudges Tony off. King turns back to you in exasperation, and rubs at his mustache nervously. He then takes your hand.

“(y/n).”

You squeeze his hands back, closing your eyes. “Doc…” You take a deep breath, calming your nerves.  _Look at it rationally– would anything really make you leave him?_  “Doc, just– don’t say you  _wanted_ to tell me. Don’t say that. It’s not true. You couldn’t tell anybody, and I understand. But why do you do it? You risk your life every night.”

He’s quiet for a while. "It’s a way to help, at least in some small way, do away with all the horror,“ King says, looking down. "Anyway, I had to keep my cover. Now it’s been discovered. I have to take Django and leave, you understand, Fraulein.” You squeeze his hands tighter. 

“You don’t have to leave. You can stay here. I’ll remain your assistant. I won’t tell– I’ll stay. Any way you want me.” You smile, and he blushes, stroking your hair back in awe. 

“(y/n)… in all the places I have traveled, I have never met anyone like you.”  

You lean forward, and kiss him. “Likewise.”


	20. Meister (Hans Landa x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wait to give Landa a sexy little surprise when he comes home, but realize he’s not alone.

Herr Colonel Landa’s home is a large one. He has money, and he’s not one to shy away from displaying it. He’s not overly cocky about it– he just takes pleasure in the fact that he’s living comfortably, and by proxy, so are you. 

Today, you’ve spent the day straightening up the place, telling your maids they’ve got the day off. You want to welcome the master of the house home properly… as his little French maid waiting for him. 

You had met Hans about a year ago at a party in Paris, where you’re from, and it had been an instant attraction. You had been a dancing girl, and dancing girls did not typically start relationships with patrons of the bar, but Hans had been irresistible. He’s so powerful, yet quietly so. So spontaneous, yet so well spoken. The man is a walking contradiction, and you find the mystery deadly attractive.

You wait in your [sexy maid outfit](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fcdn.shopify.com%2Fs%2Ffiles%2F1%2F2375%2F0555%2Fproducts%2F61kVAF7vZ1L._UL1500._2048x.jpg%3Fv%3D1512373370&t=YTMzMDE2YWVmODkxOTNiOWQ5MWM3M2I4NjYzMmVhNjcwM2Q3OWFkZSw2Mzk2NTYyZjAzM2I2MDJmOWY1MzVjNzhiZmZlZDRlMWFjMmRhOTQx) on the stairs as the front door opens. You can’t wait to see his reaction– you’re determined to remind Hans just how much he means to you.

“Hermann lernte ziemlich schnell, dass zweite Chancen nicht in meiner Natur liegen–"  _(Hermann learned quite quickly that second chances are not in my nature, when–)_ Hans stops as he sees you on the steps, and your eyes widen as you notice there are other men with him. His eyes widen as well, and you try to cover up as the two uniformed men accompanying him chuckle.

"Ah Landa. Es sieht so aus, als warte deine Dame im Warten.” ( _Ah Landa. It appears your lady in waiting is waiting_.)

“Sieht aus, als hätte das Mädchen ein Geschenk für Sie.”  _(Looks like the maid has a gift for you.)_ The two officers continue to snicker, and you’re mortified.

“That would be my wife,” Landa says slowly, and the other two men stall their laughter, fear dawning on their faces. Landa just smirks your way. “How beautiful you look, my dear. As it so happens– I am not the only one who thinks so.”

The two other men chuckle again, nervously this time. But Landa just keeps smiling your way. With that same unnerving smile on his face, he straightens his uniform coat. “Gentlemen, would you excuse me for a moment? Please, make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be with you shortly.”

You back away up the stairs as Hans’ dark eyes roam your body. You’ve got tiny lace panties on, and a white and black frilly apron that just barely covers your breasts.

“Hans–” you try to assure him, but he’s not having it. He takes your wrist as if to lead you upstairs, but ultimately decides against it. He can’t wait that long. 

Grabbing you by the thighs, he pushes you up against the banister, and parts your legs, moving down between them. After he has them open enough and unhooks your garter belt, you feel his tongue probe your panties, and you sling a leg over his shoulder. He quiets your moans with a pinch to your ass, and mouths along your swollen bud until you’re practically crying.

“Hush, Fraulein,” he snaps up at you, “Any of them could come out and see me defiling you on the stairs, and we don’t want that. Hermann and Stefan have seen enough of you for one day.”

“Yes sir, herr colonel,” you breathe, head tilting back in ecstasy. He inserts a finger into you, and you cry out as he curves it. He continues to assault your G-spot with his fingers and your clit with his tongue, until you let out a moan, coming against his face.

He raises his eyebrows. “Très rapidement, ma cherie.” (Very quickly.)

“Je suis faible pour ce que tu me fais, Hans.” (I’m weak for what you do to me, Hans.) you growl, “Tu sais ça.” (You know this.)

You drop to your knees, urging him down as well, and he lays on the stairs as you move down to undo his pants. You take him out, licking your lips at the sight of his erection. He groans, so you lower your mouth down over him, getting him even harder. You straddle him, lowering down onto his cock, and he grabs your hips, mumbling German curse words as you ride him like that on the stairs.

“You’re right,” you whisper, “They could come out at any time daddy, see me riding you, see you fucking me hard…” You moan, pressing your hand to his chest for leverage. “Fuck me hard, Hans.”

He moans your name, and pushes his hips up, once, twice more as he gasps. “Are you close, my sweet? Mm? My sweet little whore?”

“Yes,” you moan, “Bitte… Bitte Hans, ah…”

“Look at this costume… you knew exactly what it would do to me.”

“Yes!”

You bite your lip as you grind down once more and come hard at the same time as he does. He shakes his head, astonished. 

“I suppose there will be no explanation, will there?” You crawl up between his legs, and giggle. 

“Juste accueillir mon maître à la maison.” (Just welcoming my master home.)

 


End file.
